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I
One, Two,
Buckle My Shoe
Mr. Morley was not in the best of tempers at breakfast.
He complained of the bacon, wondered why the
coffee had to have the appearance of liquid mud, and
remarked that breakfast cereals were each one worse
than the last.
Mr. Morley was a small man with a decided jaw
and a pugnacious chin. His sister, who kept house for
him, was a large woman rather like a female grenadier.
She eyed her brother thoughtfully and asked
whether the bath water had been cold again.
Rather grudgingly, Mr. Morley said it had not.
He glanced at the paper and remarked that the
Government seemed to be passing from a state of incompetence
to one of positive imbecility!
Miss Morley said in a deep bass voice that it was
disgraceful!
Agatha Christie
As a mere woman she had always found whatever
Government happened to be in power distinctly useful.
She urged her brother on to explain exactly why the Government's present policy was inconclusive,
idiotic, imbecile and frankly suicidal!
When Mr. Morley had expressed himself fully on
these points, he had a second cup of the despised coffee
and unburdened himself of his true grievance.
"These girls," he said, "are all the same! Unreliable,
self-centered--not to be depended on in any
way."
Miss Morley said 'interrogatively:
"G!adys?"
"I've just had the message. Her aunt's had a
stroke and she's had to go down to Somerset."
Miss Morley said:
"Very trying, dear, but after all, hardly the girl's fault."
Mr. Morley shook his head gloomily.
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"How do I know the aunt has had a stroke? How
do I know the whole thing hasn't been arranged between
the girl and that very unsuitable young fellow
she goes about with? That young man is a wrong 'un
if I ever saw one! They've probably planned some
outing together for today."
"Oh, no, dear, I don't think G!adys would do a
thing like that. You know you've always found her
very conscientious.".
"Yes, yes."
"An intelligent girl and really keen on her work,
you said."
"Yes, yes, Georgina, but that was before this undesirable
young man came along. She's been quite
different lately--quite different--absentminded--upset--nervy."
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
The grenadier produced a deep sigh. She said:
"After all, Henry, girls do fall in love. It can't be
helped."
Mr. Morley snnpped:
"She oughtn't to let it affect her efficiency us my
secretary. And to-day, in particular, I'm extremely
busy! Several we important patients. It is most trying!"
"I'm sure it must be extremely vexing, Henry.
How is the new boy shaping, by the way?"
Henry Morley said gloomily:
"He's the worst I've had yet! Can't get a single
name right and has the most uncouth manners. If he
doesn't improve I shall sack him and try again. I
don't know what's the good of our education nowadays.
It seems to turn out a collection of nit-wits who
can't understand a single thing you say to them, let
alone remember it."
He glanced at his watch.
"I must be getting along. A full morning, and that
Sainsbury Seale woman to fit in somewhere us she is
in pain. I suggested that she should Reilly, but she
wouldn't hear of it."
"Of course not," said Georgina loyally.
"Reilly's very able--very able indnnl. Fit-clnsa
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diplomas. Thoroughly up to date in his work."
"His hand shakes," said Mkna Morley. "In my opinion he drinks."
Her brother laughed, his good temper restored. He
said:
I'll be up for a sandwich at half past one us
usual."
Agatha Christie II
At the Savoy Hotel Mr. Amberiotis was picking his
teeth and grinning to himself.
Everything was going very nicely.
He had had his usual luck. Fancy those few kind
words of his to that idiotic hen of a woman being so
richly repaid. Oh! well--cast your bread upon the
waters. He had always been a kind-hearted man. And generous! In the future he would be able to be even
more generous. Benevolent visions floated before his
eyes. Little Dimitri .... And the good Constantopopolous
struggling with his little restaurant ....
What pleasant surprises for them .... '
The toothpick probed unguardedly and Mr. Am-beriotis
winced. Rosy visions of the future faded and
gave way to apprehensions of the immediate present.
He explored tenderly with his tongue. He took out
his notebook. Twelve o'clock. 58 Queen Charlotte
Street.
He tried to recapture his former exultant mood,
but in vain. The horizon had shrunk to six bare
words:
"58 Queen Charlotte Street. Twelve o'clock."
III
At the G!engowrie Court Hotel, South Kensington,
breakfast was over. In the lounge, Miss Sains-bury
Seale was sitting talking to Mrs. Bolitho. They
occupied adjacent tables in the dining room and had
made friends the day after Miss Sainsbury Seale's
arrival a week ago.
Miss Sainsbury Seale said:
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ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
"You know, dear, it really has stopped aching!
Not a twinge! I think perhaps I'll ring up--"
Mrs. Bolitho interrupted her.
"Now don't be foolish, my dear. You go to the dentist and get it over."
Mrs. Bolitho was a tall, commanding female with a deep voice. Miss Sainsbury Seale was a woman of
forty-odd with indecisively bleached hair rolled up in
untidy curls. Her clothes were shapeless and rather
artistic, and her pince-nez were always dropping off.
She was a great talker.
She said now wistfully:
"But, really, you know, it doesn't ache at all."
"Nonsense. You told me you hardly slept a wink last night."
"No, I didn'twno, indeed--but perhaps now the nerve has actually died."
"All the more reason to go to the dentist," said Mrs. Bolitho firmly. "We all like to put it off, but
that's just cowardice. Better make up one's mind and get it over!"
Something hovered onMiss Sainsbury Seale's lips. Was it the rebellious murmur of: "Yes, but it's not
your tooth!"
All she actually said, however, was:
"I expect you are right. And Mr. Morley is such a careful man and really never hurts one at all."
IV
The meeting of the Board of Directors was over. It had passed off smoothly. The report was good.
There should have been no discordant note. Yet to
the sensitive Mr. Samuel Rotherstein there had been
6 Agatha Christie
something, some nuance in the chairman's manner.
There had been, once or twice, a shortness, an
acerbity in his tone--quite uncalled for by the proceedings.
Some secret worry, perhaps? But, somehow, Rotherstein
could not connect a secret worry with Alistair
Blunt. He was such an unemotional man. He was so
very normal. So essentially British.
There was, of course, always liver .... Mr. Rotherstein's
liver gave him a bit of trouble from time to
time. But he'd never known Alistair complain of his
liver. Alistair's health was as sound as his brain and
his grasp of finance. It was not annoying heartiness
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--just quiet we!l-being.
And yet--there was something--once or twice the
chairman's hand had wandered to his face. He had
sat supporting his chin. Not his normal attitude. And
once or twice he had seemed actually--yes, distrait.
They came out of the Board Room and passed
down the stairs.
Rotherstein said:
"Can't give you a lift, I suppose?"
A!istair Blunt smiled and shook his head.
"My car's waiting." He glanced at his watch. "I'm not going back to the city." He paused. "As a
matter of fact, I've got an appointment with the dentist.''
The mystery was solved.
V
Hercule Poirot descended from his taxi, paid the
man and rang the bell of 58 Queen Charlotte Street.
After a little delay it was opened by a lad in page
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
boy's uniform, with a freckled face, red hair, and an earnest manner.
Hercule Poirot said:
"Mr. Morley?"
There was in his heart a ridiculous hope that Mr. Morley might have been called away, might be
indisposed,
might not be seeing patients to-day .... All
in vain. The page boy drew back, Hercule Poirot
stepped inside, and the door closed behind him with
the quiet remorselessness of unalterable doom. The boy said:
"Name, please?"
Poirot gave it to him, a door on the right of the hall was thrown open and he stepped into the waiting
room.
It was a-room furnished in quiet good taste and, to Hercule Poirot, indescribably gloomy. On the
polished
(reproduction) Sheraton table were carefully
arranged papers and periodicals. The (reproduction)
Hepplewhite sideboard held two Sheffield plated candlesticks and an epergne. The mantelpiece held a
bronze clock and two bronze vases. The windows
were shrouded by curtains of blue velvet. The chairs
were upholstered in a Jacobean design of red birds
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and flowers.
In one of them sat a military looking gentleman with a fierce moustache and a yellow complexion. He
looked at Poirot with an air of one considering some
noxious insect. It was not so much his gun he looked
as though he wished he had with him, as his Flit
spray. Poirot, eyeing him with distaste, said to himself,
"In verity, there are some Englishmen who are
altogether so unpleasing and ridiculous that they
should have been put out of their misery at birth."
The military gentleman, after a prolonged glare,
$ Agatha Christie
snatched up the Times, turned his chair so as to avoid
seeing Poirot, and settled down to read it.
Poirot picked up Punch.
He went through it meticulously, but failed to find
any of the jokes funny.
The page boy came in and said, "Colonel Arrow-bumby?"--and
the military gentleman was led away.
Poirot was speculating on the probabilities of there
really being such a name, when the door opened to
admit a young man of about thirty.
As the young man stood by the table, restlessly
flicking over the covers of magazines, Poirot looked
at him sideways. An unpleasant and dangerous looking
young man, he thought, and not impossibly a
murderer. At any rate he looked far more like a tour-deter
than many of the murderers Hercule Poirot had
arrested in the course of his career.
The page boy opened the door and said to midair:
"Mr. Peerer?"
Rightly construing this as a summons to himself,
Poirot rose. The boy led him to the back of the hall
and round the corner to a small elevator in which he
took him up to the second floor. Here he led him
along a passage, opened a door which led into a little anteroom, tapped at a second door and without
waiting for a reply, opened it and stood back for
Poirot to enter.
Poirot entered to a sound of running water and
came round the back of the door to discover Mr.
Morley washing his hands with professional gusto at
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a basin on the wall.
There are certain humiliating moments in the lives
'
of the greatest of men. It has been said that no man is
'
a hero to his valet. To that may be added that few
men are heroes to themselves at the moment of
visiting their dentist.
Hercule Poirot was morbidly conscious of this
fact.
He was a man who was accustomed to have a good
opinion of himself. He was Hercule Poirot, superior
in most ways to other men. But in this moment he
was unable to feel superior in any way whatever. His
morale was down to zero. He was just that ordinary,
that craven figure, a man afraid of the dentist's
chair.
Mr. Morley had finished his professional ablu
tions. He was speaking now in his encouraging pro
fessional manner.
Hardly as warm as it should be, was it, for the time
of year?
:!
Gently he led the way.to the appointed spot--to
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The Chair! Deftly he played with its headrest, run
ning it up and down.
.
Hercule Poirot took a deep breath, stepped up, sat
down, and relaxed his head to Mr. Morley's profes
sional fiddlings.
"There," said Mr. Morley with hideous cheerful
ness. "That quite comfortable? Sure?"
In sepulchral tones Poirot said that it was quite
comfortable.
Mr. Morley swung his little table nearer, picked up
his little mirror, seized an instrument and prepared to
get on with the job.
Hercule Poirot grasped the arms of the chair, shut
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
VI
10
Agatha Christie
his eyes and opened his mouth.
"Any special trouble?" Mr. Morley inquired.
Slightly indistinctly, owing to the difficulty of
forming consonants while keeping the mouth open,
Hercule Poirot was understood to say that there was
no special trouble. This was indeed the twice yearly
overhaul that his sense of order and neatness demanded.
It was, of course, possible that there might
be nothing to do .... Mr. Morley might, perhaps,
overlook that second tooth from the back from
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which those twinges had come He might--but it
was
unlikely--for Mr. Morley was a very good den
tist.
Mr.
Morley passed slowly from tooth to tooth,
tapping and
probing, murmuring little comments as
he did
so.
"That filling
is wearing down a little--nothing
serious, though.
Gums are in pretty good condition,
I'm glad
to see." A pause at a suspect, a twist of
the probe--no,
on again; false alarm. He passed to
the lower
side. One, twoton to three? No-- "The
dog," Hercule
Poirot thought in confused idiom,
"has seen
the rabbit!"
"A little
trouble here. Not been giving you any
pain? H'm,
I'm surprised." The probe went on.
Finally Mr.
Morley drew back, satisfied.
"Nothing very
serious. Just a couple of fillings--
and a
trace of decay on that upper molar. We can get
it all
done, I think, this morning."
He turned
on a switch and there was a hum. Mr.
Morley
unhooked the drill and fitted a needle to it
with
loving care.
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"Guide
me," he said briefly, and started the dread
work.
It was not necessary for Poirot to avail himself of
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
11
this permission, to raise a hand, to wince, or even
to yell. At exactly the right moment, Mr. Morley
stopped the drill, gavethe brief command "Rinse,"
applied a little dressing, selected a new needle and
continued. The ordeal of the drill was terror rather
than pain.
Presently, while Mr. Morley was preparing the fi!ling,
conversation was resumed.
"Have to do this myself this morning," he explained.
"Miss Nevill has been called away. You remember
Miss Nevill?"
Poirot untruthfully assented.
"Called away to the country by the illness of a
relative. Sort of thing that does happen on a busy
day. I'm behindhand already this morning. The patient
before you was late. Very vexing when that happens.
It throws the whole morning out. Then I have
to fit in an extra patient because she is in pain. I
always allow quarter of an hour in a morning in case
that happens. Still, it adds to the rush."
Mr. Morley peered into his little mortar as he
ground. Then he resumed his discourse.
"I'll tell you something that I've always noticed,
M. Poirot. The big peoplethe important people--they're
always on time--never keep you waiting.
Royalty, for instance. Most punctilious. And these
big City men are the same. Now this morning I've got
a most important man coming--Alistair Blunt!"
Mr. Morley spoke the name in a voice of triumph.
Poirot, prohibited from speech by several rolls of
cotton wool and a glass tube that gurgled under his
tongue, made an indeterminate noise.
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Aiistair Blunt! Those were the names that thrilled
nowadays. Not Dukes, not Earls, not Prime Ministers.
No, plain Mr. Alistair Blunt. A man whose face
12
Aatha Christie
was almost unknown to the general public--a man
who only figured in an occasional quiet paragraph.
Not a spectacular person.
Just a quiet nondescript Englishman who was the
head of the greatest banking firm in England. A man
of vast wealth. A man who said Yes and No to Governments.
A man who lived a quiet, unobtrusive life
and never appeared on a public platform or made
speeches. Yet a man in whose hands lay supreme
power.
Mr. Morley's voice still held a reverent tone as he
stood over Poirot ramming the filling home.
"Always comes to his appointments absolutely on
time. Often sends his car away and walks back to his
office. Nice, quiet, unassuming fellow. Fond of golf
and keen on his garden. You'd never dream he could
buy up half Europe! Just like you and me."
A momentary resentment rose in Poirot at this offhand
coupling of names. Mr. Morley was a good
dentist, yes, but there .,ere other good dentists in
London. There Was only one Hercule Poirot.
"Rinse, please," said Mr. Morley.
"It's the answer, you know, to their Hitlers and Musolinis and all 'the rest of them," went on Mr.
Morley, as he proceeded to tooth number two. "We
don't make a fuss over here. Look how democratic
our King and Queen are. Of course a Frenchman like
you, accustomed to the Republican idea--"
"I ah hah a Frahah--i ah--ha a Benyon." "Tchut--tchut--" said Mr. Morley sadly. "We
must have the cavity completely dry." He puffed hot
air relentlessly on it.
Then he went on:
"I didn't realize you were a Belgian. Very interesting.
Very fine man, King Leopold, so I've always
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ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
13
heard. I'm a great believer in the tradition of Royalty
myself. The training is good, you know. Look at the
remarkable way they remember names and faces. All
the result of training--though of course some people
have a natural aptitude for that sort of thing. I,
myself, for instance. I don't remember names, but
it's remarkable the way I never forget a face. One of
my patients the other day, for instance--I've seen
that patient before. The name meant nothing to
but I said to myself at once, 'Now where have I met
you before?' I've not remembered yet--but it will
come back to me--l'm sure of it. Just another rinse,
please."
The rinse accomplished, Mr. Morley peered critically
into his patient's mouth.
"Well, I think that seems all right. Just close--very
gently .... Quite comfortable? You don't feel
the filling at all? Open again, please. No, that seems
quite all right."
The table swung back, the chair swung round.
Hercule Poirot descended, a free man.
"Well, good-bye, M. Poirot. Not detected any
criminals in my house, I hope?"
Poirot said with a smile:
"Before I came up, everyone looked to me like a
criminal! Now, perhaps, it will be different!"
"Ah, yes, a great deal of difference between before
and after! All the same, we dentists aren't such devils
now as we used to be! Shall I ring for the elevator for
you?"
"No, no, I will walk down."
"As you like--the elevator is just by the stairs."
Poirot went out. He heard the faucets start to run
as he closed the door behind him.
He walked down the two flights of stairs. As he
14
ARatha Christie
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came to the last bend, he saw the AngloIndian
Colonel being shown out. Not at all a bad looking
man, Poirot reflected mellowly. Probably a fine shot
who had killed many a tiger. A useful man--a regular
outpost of Empire.
He went into the waiting room to fetch his hat and
stick which he had left there. The restless young man
was still there somewhat to Poirot's surprise. Another
patient, a man, was reading the Field.
Poirot studied the young man in his newborn spirit
of kindliness. He still looked very fierce--and as
though he wanted to do a murder--but not really a
murderer--thought Poirot kindly. Doubtless, presently,
this young man would come tripping down the
stairs, his ordeal over, happy and smiling and wishing
no ill to anyone.
The page boy entered and said firmly and distinctly:
"Mr. Blunt."
The man at the table !aid down the Field and got
up. A man of middle height, of middle age, neither
fat nor thin. Well dressed, quiet.
He went out after the boy.
One of the richest and most powerful men in
England--but he still had to go to the dentist just like
anybody else, and no doubt felt just the same as
anybody else about it!
These reflections passing through his mind, Her-cule
Poirot picked up his hat and stick and went to
the door. He glanced back as he did so, and the
startled thought' went through his mind that that
young man must have a very bad toothache indeed.
In the hill Poirot paused before the mirror there to
adjust his moustaches, slightly disarranged as the
result of Mr. Morley's ministrations.
He had just completed their arrangement to his
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
15
satisfaction when the elevator came down again and the page boy emerged from the back of the hall
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whistling discordantly. He broke off abruptly at the
sight of Poirot and came to open the front door for
him.
A taxi had just drawn up before the house and a foot was protruding from it. Poirot surveyed the foot
with gallant interest.
A neat ankle, quite a good quality stocking. Not a bad foot. But he didn't like the shoe. A brand new
patent leather shoe with a large gleaming buckle. He
shook his head.
Not chic--very provincial!
The lady got out of the taxi, but in doing so she caught her other foot in the door and the buckle was
wrenched off. It fell tinkling to the pavement. Gallantly
Poirot sprang forward and picked it up, restoring
it with a bow.
Alas! Nearer fifty than forty. Pince-nez. Untidy yellow-grey hair--unbecoming clothes--those depressing
art greens! She thanked him, again dropping
her pince-nez, then her handbag.
Poirot, polite if no !onger gallant, picked them up for her.
She went Up the steps of 58 Queen Charlotte Street, and Poirot interrupted the taxi driver's disgusted
contemplation of a meager tip.
"yOu are free, hein?"
The taxi driver said gloomily:
"Oh, I'm free."
"So am I," said Hercule Poirot. "Free of care!" He saw the taxi man's air of deep suspicion.
"No, my friend, I am not drunk. It is that I have been to the dentist and I need not go again for six
months. It is a beautiful thought."
Three, Four,
Shut the Door
It was a quarter to three when the telephone rang.
Hercule Poirot was sitting in an easy chair, happily digesting an excellent lunch.
He did not move when the bell rang but waited for the faithful George to come and take the call.
"Eh bien," he said, as George, with a "Just a minute, sir," lowered the receiver.
"It's Chief Inspector Japp, sir."
"Aha!"
Poirot lifted the receiver to his ear.
"Eh bien, rnon vieux," he said. "How goes it?" "That you, Poirot?"
"Naturally."
"I hear you went to the dentist this morning? Is that so?"
Poirot murmured,
"Scotland Yard knows everything!"
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18 Aatha Christie
"Man by the name of Morley. 58 Queen Charlotte
Street."
"Yes." Poirot's voice had changed. "Why?"
"It was a genuine visit, was it? I mean you didn't
go to stir him up or anything of that sort?"
'.'Certainly not. I had three teeth filled if you want
to know."
"What did he seem like to. you--manner much as
usual?"
"I should say so, yes. Why?"
Japp's voice was rigidly unemotional.
"Because not so very much later he shot himself."
"What?"
Japp said sharply,
"That surprises you ?"
"Frankly, it does."
Japp said,
"I'm not too happy about it myself, I'd like to
have a talk with you. I suppose you wouldn't like to
come round?"
"Where are you?"
"Queen Charlotte Street."
Poirot said,
"I will join you immediately."
II
It was a police constable who opened the door of
Number 58. He said respectfully:
"M. Poirot?"
"It's I, myself."
"The Chief Inspector is upstairs. Second floor--you
know it?"
Hercule Poirot said:
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19
"I was there this morning."
There were three men in the room. Japp looked up
as Poirot entered.
He said:
"Glad to see you, Poirot. We're just going to
move him. Like to see him first?"
A man with a camera who had been kneeling near
the body got up.
Poirot came forward. The body was lying near the
fireplace.
In death Mr. Morley looked very much as he had
looked in life. There was a little blackened hole just
below his right temple. A small pistol lay on the floor
near his outflung right hand.
Poirot shook his head gently.
Japp said: "All right, you can move him now."
They took Mr. Morley away. Japp and Poirot were
left alone.
Japp said:
"We're through all the routine. Finger*prints, etc."
Poirot sat down. He said:
"Tell me."
Japp pursed up his lips. He said:
"He could have shot himself. He probably did shoot himself. There are only his finger-prints on the
gun--but I'm not quite satisfied."
"What are your objections?"
"Well, to begin with, there doesn't seem to be any
reason why he should shoot himself .... He was in
good health, he was making money, he hadn't any
worries that anyone knew of. He wasn't mixed up
with a womanmat least," Japp corrected himself
cautiously, "as far as we know he wasn't. He hasn't
been moody or depressed or unlike himself. That's
20
Agatha Chrvtie
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partly why I was anxious to hear what you said. You saw him this morning, and I wondered if you'd
noticed
anything.",
Poirot shook his head.
"Nothing at all. He was--what shall I say?--normality itself."
"Then that makes it odd, doesn't it? Anyway, you wouldn't think a man would shoot himself in the
middle of business hours, so to speak. Why not wait
till this evening? That would be the natural thing to
do."
Poirot agreed.
"When did the tragedy occur?"
"Can't say exactly. Nobody seems to have heard the shot. But I don't think they would. There are two
doors between here and the passage and they have
baize fitted round the edges--to deaden the noise
from the victims of the dental chair, I imagine."
"Very probably. Patients under gas sometimes make a lot of noise."
"Quite. And outside, in the street, there's plenty of traffic, so you wouldn't be likely to hear it out
there."
"When was it discovered?"
"Round about l:30mby the page boy, Alfred Biggs. Not a very bright specimen, by all accounts. It
seems that Morley's 12:30 patient kicked up a bit of a
row at being kept waiting. About 1:10 the boy came
up and knocked. There was no answer and apparently
he didn't dare come in. He'd got in a few rows
already from Morley and he was nervous of doing the
wrong thing. He went down again and the patient
walked out in a huff at 1:15. I don't blame her. She'd
been kept waiting three-quarters of an hour and she
wanted her lunch."
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
21
"Who was she?"
Japp grinned.
"According to the boy she was Miss Shirty--but from the appointment book her name was Kirby."
"What system was there for showing up patients?''
"When Morley was ready for his next patient he
pressed that buzzer over there nnd the boy then
showed the patient up.'
"And Morley pressed the buzzer last?"
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"At five minutes past twelve, and the boy showed
up the patient who was waiting. Mr. Amberiotis,
Savoy Hotel, according to the appointment book."
A faint smile came to Poirot's lips. He murmured:
"I wonder what our page boy made of that
"A pretty hash, I should say. We'll ask him
presently if we feel like a laugh."
Poirot said:
"And at what time did this Mr. Amberiotis
leave?"
"The boy didn't show him out, so he doesn't
know. A good many patients just go down the stairs
without ringing for the elevator and let themselves
out."
Poirot nodded.
Japp went on:
"But I rang up the Savoy Hotel. Mr. Amberiotis
was quite precise. He said he looked at his watch as
he closed the front door and it was then twenty-five
minutes past twelve."
"He could tell you nothing of importance?"
"No, all he could say was that the dentist had
seemed perfectly normal and calm in his manner."
"Eh being," said Poirot. "Then that seems quite
22
Aatha Christie'
clear. Between five and twenty past twelve and half-past
one something happened--and presumably
nearer the former time."
"Quite. Because otherwise--"
"Otherwise he would have pressed the buzzer for
the next patient."
"Exactly. The medical evidence agrees with that
for what it's worth. The divisional surgeon examined
the body--at twenty past two. He wooldn't commit
himself--they never do nowadays--too many individual
idiosyncrasies, they say. But Morley couldn't
have been shot later than one o'clock, he says--probably
considerably earlier--but he wouldn't be
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definite?'
Poirot said thoughtfully:
"Then at twenty-five minutes past twelve our dentist
is a normal dentist, cheerful, urbane, competent.
And after that? Despair--misery--what you .will--and
he shoots himself."
"It's funny," said Japp. "You've got to admit,
it's funny."
"Funny," said Poirot, "is not the word."
"I know it isn't really--but it's the sort of thing
one says. It's odd, then, if you like that better."
"Was it his own pistol?"
"No, it wasn't. He hadn't got a pistol. Never had
had one. According to his sister there wasn't such a
thing in the house. There isn't in most houses. Of
course he might have bought it if he'd made up his
mind to do away with himself. If so, we'll soon know
about it."
Poirot asked:
"Is there anything else that worries you?"
Japp rubbed his nose.
"Well, there was the way he was lying. I wouldn't
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
23
say a man couldn't fall like that--but it wasn't quite right somehow! And there was just a trace or two on
the carpet--as though something had been dragged
along it."
"That, then, is decidedly suggestive."
"Yes, unless it was that dratted boy. I've a feeling
that he may have tried to move Morley when he
found him. He denies it, of course, but then he was
scared. He's that kind of young ass. The kind that's
always putting his foot in it and getting cursed, and
so they come to lie about things almost automatically."
Poirot looked thoughtfully round the room.
At the wash basin on the wall behind the door, at
the tall filing cabinet on the other side of the door. At
the dental chair and surrounding apparatus near the
window, then along to the fireplace and back to
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where the body lay; there was a second door in the
wall near the fireplace.
.lapp had followed his glance.
",lust a small office through there." He flung open
the door.
It was as he had said, a small room, with a desk, a
table with a spirit lamp and tea apparatus, and some
chairs. There was no other door.
"This is where his secretary worked," explained
Japp. "Miss Nevill. It seems she's away today."
His eyes met Poirot's. The latter said:
'"He told me, I remember. That again--might be a point against suicide?"
"You mean she was got out of the way?"
,lapp paused. He said:
"If it wasn't suicide, he was murdered. But why?
That solution seems almost as unlikely as the other. He seems to have been a quiet inoffensive sort of
Aatha Christie
chap. Who would want to murder him?"
Poirot said:
"Who could have murdered him?"
Japp said, "The answer to that is--almost anybody!
His sister could have come down from their flat above and shot him, one of the servants could
have come in and shot him. His partner, Reilly, could
have shot him. The boy Alfred could have shot him.
One of the patients could have shot him." He paused
and said, "And Amberiotis could have shot him--
easiest of the lot."
Poirot nodded.
"But in that case--we have to find out why?"
"Exactly. You've come round again to the original
problem. Why? Amberiotis is saying at the Savoy.
Why does a rich Greek want to come and shoot an inoffensive
dentist?
"That's really going to be our stumbling block. Motive!"
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. He said: "It would
seem that death selected, most inartistically, the
wrong man. The Mysterious Greek, the Rich Banker,
the Famous Detective--how natural that one of them should be shot! For mysterious foreigners may be
mixed up in espionage and rich bankers have connections
who will benefit by their deaths and famous
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detectives may be dangerous to criminals."
"Whereas, poor old Morley wasn't dangerous to
anybody," observed Japp gloomily.
"I wonder."
Japp whirled round on him.
"What's up your sleeve now?"
"Nothing. A chance remark."
He repeated to Japp those few casual words of Mr.
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
25
Morley's about recognising faces, and his mention of
a patient.
Japp looked doubtful.
"It's possible, I suppose. But it's a bit farfetched.
It must have been someone who wanted his identity
kept dark. You didn't notice any of the other patients
this morning?"
Poirot murmured:
"I noticed in the waiting room a young man who
looked exactly like a murderer!"
.lapp said, startled:
"What's that?"
Poirot smiled:
"Mon cher, it was upon my arrival here! I was nervous, fanciful--enfin, in a mood. Everything seemed
sinister to me, the waiting room, the patients, the
very carpet on the stairs! Actually, I think the young
man had a very bad toothache. That was'all!"
"I know what it can be," said Japp. "However,
we'll check up on your murderer all th. same. We'll
check up on everybody, whether it's suicide or not. I
think the first thing is to have another talk with Miss
Morley. I've only had a word or two. It was a shock
to her, of course, but she's the kind that doesn't
break down. We'll go and see her now."
III
Tall and grim, Georgina Morley listened to what
the two men had to say and answered their questions.
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She said with emphasis:
"It's incredible to me--quite incredible--that my
brother should have committed suicide!"
26
Agatha Christie
Poirot said:
"You realize the alternative, Mademoiselle?" "You mean--murder." She paused. Then she said
slowly: "It is truemthat alternative seems nearly as
impossible as the other."
"But not quite as impossible?" "Nombecause--oh, in the first case, you see, I am
speaking of something I know--that is, my brother's
state of mind. I know he had nothing on his mind--I know that there was no reason--no reason at all why
he should take his own life!"
"You saw him this morning--before he started work?"
"At breakfast--yes."
"And he was quite as usual--not upset in any way?"
"He was upset--but not in the way you mean. He was just annoyed!"
"Why was that?"
"He had a busy morning in front of him, and his secretary and assistant had been called away."
"That is Miss Nevi!i?"
"What did she do for him?"
"She did all his correspondence, of course, and kept the appointment book, and filed all the charts.
She also saw to the sterilizing of the instruments and
ground up his fillings and handed them to him when
he was working."
"Had she been with him long?"
"Three years. She is a very reliable girl and we
are--were both very fond of her."
Poirot said:
"She was called away owing to the illness of a relative, so your brother told me."
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
27
"Yes, she got a telegram to say her aunt had had a stroke. She went off to Somerset by an early train."
"And that was what annoyed your brother so
much?"
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"Ye-es." There was a faint hesitation in Miss Morley's
answer. She went on rather hurriedly. "'You--you
mustn't think my brother unfeeling. It was only
that he thoughtmjust for a momentm''
"Yes, Miss Morley?"
"Well, that she might have played truant on purpose.
Oh! please don't misunderstand me--I'm quite
certain that Gladys would never do such a thing. I
told Henry so. But the fact of the matter is, that she
has got herself engaged to rather an unsuitable young
man--Henry was very vexed about it--and it occurred
to him that this young man might have persuaded
her to take a day off."
"Was that likely?"
"No, I'm sure it wasn't. Gladys is a very conscientious
girl."
"But it is the sort of thing the young man might
have suggested?"
Miss Morley sniffed.
"Quite likely, I should say."
"What does he do, this young fellow--what is his
name, by the way?"
"Carter, Frank Carter. He ismor was--an insurance
clerk, I believe. He lost his job some weeks ago
and doesn't seem able to get another. Henry said--and
I daresay he was rightmthat he is a complete
rotter. G!adys had actually lent him some of her savings
and Henry was very annoyed about it."
lapp said sharply:
"Did your brother try to persuade her to break her
engagement?"
28
Agatha Christie
"Yes, he did, I know."
"Then this Frank Carter would, quite possibly;
have a grudge against your brother."
The grenadier said robustly:
"Nonsensemthat is if you are suggesting that Frank Carter shot Henry. Henry advised the girl
against young Carter, certainly; but she didn't take
his advice--she is foolishly devoted to Frank."
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"Is there anyone else you can think of who had a grudge against your brother?"
Miss Morley shook her head.
"Did he get on well with his partner, Mr. Reilly?" Miss Morley replied acidly:
"As well as you can ever hope to get on with an Irishman!"
"What do you mean by that, Miss Morley?" "Well, Irishmen have hot tempers and they
thoroughly enjoy a row of any kind. Mr. Reilly liked
arguing about politics."
"That was all?"
"That was all. Mr. Reilly is unsatisfactory in many ways, but he was very skilled in his profession--or so
my brother said."
Japp persisted: "How is he unsatisfactory?"
Miss Morley hesitated, then said acidly:
"He drinks too much--but please don't let that go any further."
"Was there any trouble between him and your brother on that subject?"
"Henry gave him one or two hints. In dentistry," continued Miss Morley didactically, "a steady hand
is needed, and an alcoholic breath does not inspire
confidence."
Japp bowed his head in agreement. Then he mid:
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
29
"Can you tell us anything of your brother's financial position?"
"Henry was making a good income and he had a
certain amount put by. We each had a small private
income of our own left to us by our father."
Japp murmured with a slight cough:
"You don't know, I suppose, if your brother left a will ?"
"He did--and I can tell you its contents. He left a
hundred pounds to Gladys Nevill, otherwise everything
comes to me."
"I see. Now--"
There was a fierce thump on the door. Alfred's
face then appeared round it. His goggling eyes took
in each detail of the two visitors as he ejaculated:
"It's Miss Nevill. She's back--and in a bad state.
Shall she come in, she wants to know?"
Japp nodded and Miss Morley said:
"Tell her to come here, Alfred."
"O.K.," said Alfred, and disappeared.
Miss Morley said with a sigh and in obvious capital
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letters:
"That Boy is a Sad Trial."
IV
Gladys Nevill was a tall, fair, somewhat anaemic
girl of about twenty-eight. Though obviously very
upset, she at once showed that she was capable and
intelligent.
Under the pretext of looking through Mr. Morley's
papers, Japp got her away from Miss Morley down
to the little office next door to the surgery.
30
Agatha Chrt
She repeated more than once:
"I simply cannot believe it! It seems quite incredible that Mr. Morley should do such a thing!"
She was emphatic that he had not seemed troubled
or worried in any way.
Then Japp began:
"You were called away to-day, Miss Nevill--" She interrupted him.
"Yes, and the whole thing was a wicked practical joke! I do think it's awful of people to do things like
that. I really do."
"What do you mean, Miss Nevill?"
"Why, there wasn't anything the matter with Aunt at all. She'd never been better. She couldn't understand
it when I suddenly turned up. Of course I was
ever so glad--but it did make me mad. Sending a
telegram like that and upsetting me and everything." "Have you got that telegram, Miss Nevill?"
"I threw it away, I think, at the station. It just said Your aunt had stroke last night. Please come at once."
"You are quite sure--we!l--" Japp coughed delicately--"that it wasn't your friend, Mr. Carter, who
sent that telegram?"
"Frank? Whatever for? Oh! I see, you mean--a put up job between us? No, indeed, Inspector--neither
of us would do such a thing."
Her indignation seemed genuine enough and Japp had a little trouble in soothing her down. But a
question
as to the patients on this particular morning
restored her to her competent self.
"They are all here in the book. I daresay you have seen it already. I know about most of them. Ten
o'clock Mrs. Soames--that was about her new plate
--10:30 Lady Grant--she's an elderly lady--lives in
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Lowndes Square. Eleven o'clock M. Hercule Poirot, he comes regularly--oh, of course this/$ him--sorry,
M. Poirot, but I really am so upset! At 11:30, Mr.
Alistair Blunt--that's the banker, you knowa shor
appointme, nt, because Mr. Morley had prepared the
filling last time. Then Miss Sainsbury Seale--sh
rang up specially--had toothache and so Mr. Morle]
fitted her in. A terrible talker she is, never stops--th
fusskind, too. Then at twelve o'clock Mr. Amberi
otis--he was a new patient--made an appointmen
from the Savoy Hotel. Mr. Morley gets quite a lot o
foreigners and Americans. Then 12:30 Miss Kirby
She comes up from Worthing."
Poirot asked:
"There was here when I arrived a tall militar) gentleman. Who would he be?"
"One of Mr. Reilly'spatients, I expect. I'll just his list for you, shall I?"
"Thank you, Miss Nevill."
She was absent only a few minutes. She returne
with a book similar to that of Mr. Morley's.
She read out:
"Ten o'clock Betty Heath (That's a little girl o nine.); eleven o'clock, Colonel Abercrombie."
"Abercrombie!" murmured Poirot. "C'tait a!' ,Eleven-thirty, Mr. Howard Raikes. Twelv,
o'clock, Mr. Barnes, and that was all the patients thi.,
morning. Mr. Reiily isn't .so booked up as Mr
Morley, of course."
"Can you tell us anything about any of these pa. tients of Mr. Reilly's?"
"Colonel Abercrombie has been a patient for long time, and all of Mrs. Heath's children come t
Mr. Reilly. I can't tell you anything about Mr
Raikes or Mr. Barnes, though I fancy I have hear
32 Agatha Christie
their names. I take all the telephone calls, you see--"
Japp said:
"We can ask Mr. Reilly ourselves. I should like to
see him as soon as possible."
Miss Nevill went out. Japp Said to Poirot:
"All old patients of Mr. Morley's except Arnberiotis. I'm going to have an interesting talk with
Mr. Amberiotis presently. He's the last person, as it
stands, to see Morley alive, and we've got to make
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quite sure that when he last saw him, Morley was alive."
Poirot said slowly, shaking his head:
"You have still to prove motive."
"I know. That's what is going to be the teaser. But
we may have something about Amberiotis at the
Yard." He added sharply: "You're very thoughtful,
Poirot!"
"I was wondering about something.''
"What was it?"
Poirot said with faint smile:
"Why Chief Inspector Japp?"
"Eh?"
"I said, 'Why Chief Inspector Japp?' An officer
of your eminencemis he usually called in to a case of
suicide?"
"As a matter of fact, I happened to be near by at
the time. At Lavenham'stin Wigmore Street. Rather
an ingenious system of frauds they've 'had there.
They telephoned me there to come on here."
"But why did they telephone you?"
"Oh, thatmthat's simple enough. Alistair Blunt.
As soon as the Divisional InsPector heard he'd been
here this morning, he got on to the Yard. Mr. Blunt is
the kind of person we take care of in this country."
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
33
"You mean that there are people who would like him--out of the way?"
"You bet there are. The Reds, to begin with--and our Blackshirted friends, too. It's Blunt and his
group who are standing solid behind the present Government.
Good sound conservative finance. That's
why, if there were the least chance that there was any
funny stuff intended against him this morning, they
wanted a thorough investigation."
Poirot nodded.
"That is what I moreor less guessed. And that is the feeling I have--" he waved his hands
expressively--"that
there was, perhaps--a hitch of some
kind. The proper victim was--should have been--Alistair
Blunt. Or is this only a beginning--the beginning
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of a campaign of some kind? I smell--I smell--" he sniffed the air--"big money in this business!''
Japp said:
"You're assuming a lot, you know."
"I am suggesting that cepauvre Morley was only a pawn in the game. Perhaps he knew something--per-
haps
he told Blunt something--or they feared he would tell Blunt something--"
He stopped as Gladys Nevill reentered the room. "Mr. Reilly is busy on an extraction case," she
said. "He will be free in about ten minutes if that will
be all right?"
Japp said that it would. In the meantime, he said, he would have another talk with the boy Alfred.
34
Agatha Christie
V
Alfred was divided between nervousness, enjoyment, and a morbid fear of being blamed for
everything that had occurred! He had only been a
fortnight in Mr. Morley's employ, and during that
fortnight he had consistently and unvaryingly done
everything wrong. Persistent blame had sapped his
self<onfidence.
"He was a bit rattier than usual, perhaps," said Alfred in answer to a question, "but nothing else as I
remember. I'd never have thought he was going to do
himself in."
Poirot interposed.
"You must tell us," he said, "everything that you can remember about this morning. You are a .very
important witness, and you[. recollections may be of
immense service to us."
Alfred's face was suffused by vivid crimson and
his chest swelled. He had already given .lapp a brief account of the morning's happenings. He proposed
now to spread himself. A comforting sense of importance
Oozed into him.
"I can tell you orl right," he said. ",lust you ask me."
"To begin with, did anything out of the way happen this morning?"
Alfred reflected a minute and then said rather sadly:
"Can't say as it did. It was orl just as usual." "Did any strangers come to the house?"
"No, sir."
"Not even among the patients?"
"I didn't know as you meant the patients. Nobody come what hadn't got an appointment, if that's what
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you mean. They were all down in the book."
Japp nodded. Poirot asked:
"Could anybody have walked in from outside?"
"No, they couldn't. They'd have to have a kc seeT"
"But it was quite easy to leave the house?"
"Oh, yes, just turn the handle and go out and p'
the door to after you. As I was saying, most of 'e
do. They often come down the stairs while I'm takil
up the next party in the elevator, see?"
"I see. Now just tell us who came first this mot
ing and so on. Describe them if you can't remem
the names."
Alfred reflected a minute. Then he said:
"Lady with a little girl, that was for Mr. Reilly, al
a Mrs. Soap or some such name for Mr. Morley."
Poir0t said:
"Quite right. Go on."
"Then another elderly lady--bit of a swell she'w
--come in a Daimler. As she went out a tall milita
gent come in, and just after him, you came." t
nodded to Poirot.
"Right."
"Then the Anlerican gent came--"
Japp said sharply: "American?"
"Yes, sir. Young fellow. He was American
right--you could tell by his voice. Come early, .'
did. His appointment wasn't till 1 l:30--and wha
more he didn't keep it--neither."
Japp said sharply:
"What's that?,,
"Not him. Come in for him when Mr. Reilb
buzzer vent at I 1:30--a bit later it was, as a matt
of fact, might have been twenty to twelve--and '
wasn't there. Must have funked it and gone away
36
Agatha Christie
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He added with a knowing air, "They do sometimes."
Poirot said:
"Then he must have gone out soon after me?"
"That's right, sir. You went out after I'd taken up
a swell what come in a Rolls. Oh--it was a lovely car
--Mr. Biunt's. Then I come down and let you out
and a lady in. Miss Some Berry Seal, or something
like that--and then l--well, as a matter of fact I just
nipped down to the kitchen to get a bite to eat, and
when I was down there the buzzer went--Mr. Reilly's
buzzer--so I come up and as I say, the American
gentleman had gone out. I went and told Mr. Reilly
and he swore a bit, as is his way."
Poirot said:
"Continue."
"Lemme see, what happened next? Oh, yes, Mr.
Morley's buZZer went for that Miss Seal, and the
swell came down and went out as I took Miss Whatsername
up in the elevator. Then I come down again
and two gentlemen came--one a little man with a
funny squeaky voice--I can't remember his name.
For Mr. Reilly, he was. And a fat foreign gentleman
for Mr. Morley.
"Miss Seal wasn't very longmnot above a quarter
of an hour. I let her out and then I took up the foreign
gentleman. I'd already taken the other gent in to
Mr. Reilly right away as soon as he came."
Japp said:
"And you didn't see Mr. Amberiotis, the foreign
gentleman, leave?"
"No, sir, I can't say as I did. He must have let himself
out. I didn't see either of those two gentlemen
go."
"Where were you from twelve o'clock onwards?"
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
37
"I always sits in the elevator, sir, waiting until the
front door bell or one of the buzzers goes."
Poirot said:
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"And you were perhaps reading?"
Alfred blushed again.
"There ain't no harm in that, sir. It's not as
though I could be doing anything else."
"Quite so. What were you reading?"
"Death at 11:45, sir. It's an American detective
story. It's a corker, sir, it really is! All about gunmen."
Poirot smiled faintly. He said: "Would you hear
the front door close from where you were?"
"You mean anyone going out? I don't think I
should, sir. What I meanfuI shouldn't notice it! You
see, the elevator is rigWat the back of the hall and a
little round the corner. The bell rings just behind it,
and the buzzers, too. You can't miss them." Poirot nodded and Japp asked:
"What happened next?"
Alfred frowned in a supreme effort of memory.
"Only the last lady, Miss Shirty. I waited for Mr.
Morley's buzzer to go, but nothing happened and at
one o'clock, the lady who was waiting, she got rather
ratty."
"It did not occur to you to go up before and see if
Mr. Morley was ready?"
Alfred shook his head very positively.
"Not me, sir. I wouldn't have dreamed of it. For
all I knew the last gentleman was still up there, I'd
got to wait for the buzzer. Of course, if I'd knowed
as Mr. Morley had done himself into"
Alfred shook his head with morbid relish.
Poirot asked:
38
Agatha Christie
"Did the buzzer usually go before the patient came
down, or the other way about?"
"Depends. Usually the patient would come down
the stairs and then the buzzer would go. If they rang
for the elevator, that buzzer would go perhaps as I
was bringing them down. But it wasn't fixed in any
way. Sometimes Mr. Morley would be a few minutes
before he rang for the next patient. If he was in a
hurry, he'd ring as soon as they were out of the
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room."
"I see--" Poirot paused and then went on:
"Were you surprised at Mr. Morley's suicide,
Alfred?"
"Knocked all of a heap, I was. He hadn't no call to
go doing himself in as far as I can see--oh!" Alfred's
eyes grew large and round. "Oo--er--he wasn'.t murdered, was he?"
Poirot cut in before Japp could speak.
"Supposing he were, would it surprise you less?"
"Well, I don't know, sir, l,m sure. I can't see
who'd want to murder Mr. Morley. He was--well, he
was a very ordinary gentleman, sir. Was he really murdered, sir?"
Poirot said gravely:
"We have to take every possibility into account.
That is why I told you you would be a very important
witness and that you must try and recollect everything
that happened this morning."
He stressed the words and Alfred frowned with a
prodigious effort of memory.
"I can't think of anything else, sir. I can't indeed."
Alfred's tone was rueful.
"Very good, Alfred. And you are quite sure no
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
39
one except patients came to the house this morning?"
"No stranger did, sir. That Miss Nevill's young man came round--and in a bad state not to find her
here."
Japp said sharply:
"When was that?"
"Some time after twelve it was. When I told him Miss Nevill was away for the day, he seemed very put
out and he said he'd wait and see Mr. Morley. I told
him Mr. Morley was busy right up to lunch time, but
he said never mind, he'd wait." Poirot asked:
"And did he wait?"
A startled look came into Alfred's eyes. He said: "Oh--I never thought of that! He went into the
waiting room, but he wasn't there later. He must
have got tired of waiting and thought he'd come back
another time."
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Vl
When Alfred had gone out of the room, Japp said sharply:
"D'you think it was wise to suggest murder to that lad?"
Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
"I think so--yes. Anything suggestive that he may have seen or heard will come back to him under the
stimulus, and he will be keenly alert to everything
that goes on here."
"All the same, we don't want it to get about too SO0 I1. ' '
"Mon cher, it will not. Alfred reads detective
40 Agatha Christie
stories--Alfred is enamored of crime. Whatever
Alfred lets slip will be put down to Alfred's morbid
criminal imagination."
"Well, perhaps you are right, Poirot. Now we've
got to hear what Reilly has to say."
Mr. Reiily's surgery and office were on the first
floor. They were as spacious as the ones above but
had less light in them, and were not quite so richly
appointed.
Mr. Morley's partner was a tall dark young man,
with a plume of hair that fell untidily over his forehead.
He had an attractive voice and a very shrewd
eye.
"We're hoping, Mr. Reilly," said Japp, after introducing
himself, "that you can throw some light on
this matter."
"You're wrong then, because I can't," replied the
other. "I'd say this--that Henry Morley was the last
person to go taking his own life. I might have done
it--but he wouldn'L"
"Why might you have done it?" asked Poirot.
"Because I've oceans of worries," replied the
other. "Money troubles, for one! I've never yet been
able to suit my expenditure to my income. But
Morley was a careful man. You'll find no debts, nor
money troubles, I'm sure of that."
"Love affairs?" suggests Japp.
"Is it Morley you mean? He had no joy of living at
all! Right under his sister's thumb he was, poor man."
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Japl went on to ask Reilly details about the patients
he had seen that morning.
"Oh, I fancy they're all square and aboveboard.
Little Betty Heath, she's a nice child--I've had the
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
41
whole family one after another. Colonel Abercrombie's an old patient, too,"
"What about Mr. Howard Raikes?" asked .lapp. Reilly grinned broadly.
"The one who walked out on me? He's never been to me before. I know nothing about him. He rang up
and particularly asked for an appointment this morning.''
"Where did he ring up from?"
"Holborn Palace Hotel. He's an American, I fancy."
"So Alfred said."
"Alfred should know," said Mr. Reilly. "He's a film fan, our Alfred."
"And your other patient?"
"Barnes? A funny precise little man. Retired civil servant. Lives out Ealing way."
.lapp paused a minute and then said: "What can you tell us about Miss Nevill?"
Mr. Reilly raised his eyebrows.
"The bee-yewtiful blond secretary? Nothing do-lng, old boy! Her relations with old Morley were
perfectly pure--I'm sure of it."
"I never suggested they weren't," said .lapp, red-dcning slightly.
"My fault," said Reilly. "Excuse my filthy mind, won't you? I thought it might be an attempt on your
part to cherchez la femme.'-'
"Excuse me for speaking your language," he added parenthetically to Poirot. "Beautiful accent,
haven't I? It comes of being educated by nuns."
Japp disapproved of this flippancy. He asked:
"Do you know anything about the young man Miss Ncvill is engaged to? His name is Carter, I
42 Agatha Christie
understand. Frank Carter."
"Morley didn't think much of ,him," said Reilly.
"He tried to get la Nevill to turn him down."
"That might have annoyed Carter?"
"Probably annoyed him frightfully," agreed Mr.
Rei!ly cheerfully.
He paused and then added:
"Excuse me, this is a suicide you are investigating,
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not a murder?"
Japp said sharply:
"If it were a murder, would you have anything to
suggest?"
"Not I! I'd like it to be Georgina! One of those
grim females with temperance on the brain. But I'm
afraid Georgina is full of moral rectitude. Of course,
I could easily have nipped upstairs and shot the old
boy myself, but I didn't. In fact, I can't imagine anyone wanting to kill Morley. But then I can't conceive
of his killing himself."
He added--in a different voice:
"As a matter of fact, I'm very sorry about it. You
mustn't judge by my manner. That's just nervousness,
you know. I was fond of old Morley and I shall
miss him."
VII
Japp put down the telephone receiver. His face, as
he turned to Poirot, was rather grim.
He said:
"Mr. Amberiotis 'isn't feeling very well--would
rather not see anyone this afternoon.' He's going to
see memand he's not going to give me the slip either!
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
43
I've got a man at the Savoy ready to trail him if he
tries to make a getaway."
Poirot said thoughtfully:
"You think Amberiotis shot Morley?"
"I don't know. But he was the last person to see
Morley alive. And he was a new patient. According
to his story, he left Morley alive and well at twenty-five
minutes past twelve. That may be true or it may
not. If Morley was all right then we've got to reconstruct
what happened next. There ,as still five minutes
to go before his next appointment. Did someone
come in and see him during that five minutes? Carter,
say? Or Reilly? What happened? Depend upon it, by
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half past twelve, or five and twenty to one at the
latest, Morley was dead--otherwise he'd either have
sounded his buzzer or else sent down word to .Miss
Kirby that he couldn't see her. No, either he was
killed, or else somebody told him something which
upset the whole tenor of his mind, and he took his
own life."
He paused.
"I'm going to have a word with every patient he
saw this morning, There's just the possibility that he may have said something to one of them that will
put
us on the right track."
He glanced at his watch.
"Mr. Alistair Blunt said he could give me a few
minutes at 4:15. We'll go to him first. His house is on
Chelsea Embankment. Then we might take the Sains-bury
Seale woman on our way to Amberiotis. I'd prefer
to know all we can before tackling our Greek
friend. After that, I'd like a word or two with the
American who, according to you, 'looked like
murder.'"
44
Agatha Christie
Hercule Poirot shook his head.
"Not murder--toothache."
"All the same, we'll see this Mr. Raikes. His conduct
was queer to say the least of it. And we'll check
up on Miss Nevill's telegram and on her aunt and on
her young man. In fact, we'll check up on everything
and everybody!"
Vlll
Alistair Blunt had never loomed large in the public
eye. Possibly because he was himself a very quiet and
retiring man. Possibly because for many years he had
functioned as a Prince Consort rather than as a King.
Rebecca Sanseverato, ne Arnholt, came to London
a disillusioned woman of forty-five. On either
side she came of the Royalty of wealth. Her mother
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was an heiress of the European family of Rother-steins.
Her father was the head of the great American
banking house of Arnholt's. Rebecca Arnholt, owing
to the calamitous deaths of two brothers and a cousin
in an air accident, was sole heiress to immense
wealth. She married a European aristocrat with a
famous name, Prince Felipe di Sanseverato. Three
years later she obtained a divorce and custody of the
child of the marriage, having spent two years of
wretchedness with a well-bred scoundrel whose conduct
was notorious. A few years later her child died.
Embittered by her sufferings, Rebecca Arnholt
turned her undoubted brains to the business of finance--the
aptitude for it ran in her blood. She
associated herself with her father in banking.
After his death she continued to be a powerful
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
45
figure in the financial world with her immense holdings. She came to London--and a junior partner of
the London house was sent to Claridge's to see her
with various documents. Six months later the world
was electrified to hear that Rebecca Sanseverato was
marrying Alistair Blunt, a man nearly twenty years
younger than herself.
There were the usual jeers--and smiles. Rebecca, her friends said, was really an incurable fool where
men were concerned! First Sanseverato--now this
young man. Of course he was only marrying her for
her money. She was in for a second disaster! But to
everyone's surprise the marriage was a success. The
people who prophesied that Alistair Blunt would
spend her money on other women were wrong. He remained
quietly devoted to his wife. Even after her
death, ten years later, when as inheritor of her vast
wealth he might have been supposed to cut loose, he
did not marry again. He lived the same quiet and
simple life. His genius for finance had been no less
than his wife's. His judgments and dealings were
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sound--his integrity above question. He dominated
the vast Arnholt and Rotherstein interests by his
sheer ability.
He went very little into society, had a house in Kent and one in Norfolk where he spent week-ends--not
with gay parties, but with a few quiet, stodgy
friends. He was fond of golf and played moderately
well. He was interested in his garden.
This was the man towards whom Chief Inspector Japp and Hercule Poirot were bouncing along in a
somewhat elderly taxi.
The Gothic House was a well-known feature on Chelsea Embankment. Inside it was luxurious with
46 Agatha Christie
an expensive simplicity. It was not very modern but it
was eminently comfortable.
Alistair Blunt did not keep them waiting. He came
to them almost at once.
"Chief Inspector Japp?"
Japp came forward and introduced Hercule
Poirot. Blunt looked at him with interest.
"I know your name, of course, M. Poirot. And
surely--somewhere--quite recently--" He paused,
frowning.
Poirot said:
"This morning, Monsieur, in the waiting room of ce pauvre M. Morley."
Alistair Blunt's brow cleared. He said:
"Of course. I knew I had seen you somewhere."
He turned to Japp. "What can I do for you? I am extremely
sorry to hear about poor Morley."
"You were surprised, Mr. Blunt?"
"Very surprised. Of course I knew very little about
him, but I should have thought him a most unlikely
person to commit suicide."
"He seemed in good health and spirits then, this
morning?"
"I think so--yes." Alistair Blunt paused, then said
with an almost boyish smile: "To tell you the truth I'm a most awful coward about going to the dentist.
And I simply hate that beastly drill thing they run into
you. That's why I really didn't notice anything
much. Not till it was over, you know, and I got up to
go. But I must say Morley seemed perfectly natural
then. Cheerful and busy."
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"You had been to him often?"
"I think this was my third or fourth visit, I've
never had much trouble with my teeth until the last
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
47
year. Breaking up, I suppose."
Hercule Poirot asked:
"Who recommended Mr. Morley to you originally?''
Blunt drew his brows together in an effort of concentration.
"Let me see now--I had a twinge--somebody told
me Morley of Queen Charlotte Street was the man to
go to--no, I can't for the life of me remember who it
was. Sorry."
Poirot said:
"If it should come back to you, perhaps you will
let one of us know?"
Alistair Blunt looked at him curiously.
He'said: "I wi!l--certainly. Why? Does it matter?''
"I have an idea,,, said Poirot, "that it might matter
very much."
They were going down the steps of the house when
a car drew up in front of it. It was a car of sporting
build--one of those cars from which it is necessary to
wriggle from under the wheel in sections.
The young woman who did so appeared to consist
chiefly of arms and legs. She had finally dislodged
herself as the men turned to walk down the street.
The girl stood on the pavement looking after them.
Then, suddenly and vigorously, she ejaculated,
"Hi!"
Not realizing that the call was addressed to them,
neither man turned, and the girl repeated: ,'Hi! Hi!
You, there!"
They stopped and looked round inquiringly. The
girl walked towards them. The impression of arms
and legs remained. She was tall, thin, and her face
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48
Agatha Christie
had an intelligence and aliveness that redeemed its
lack of actual beauty. She was dark with a deeply
tanned skin.
She said, addressing Poirot:
"I know who you are--you're the detective man,
Hercule Poirot!" Her voice was warm and deep, with
a trace of American accent.
Poirot said:
"At your service, Mademoiselle."
Her eyes went on to his companion.
Poirot said:
"Chief Inspector Japp."
Her eyes widened--almost it seemed with alarm.
She said--and there was a slight breathlessness in her
voice:
"What have you been doing here? Nothing--nothing
has happened to Uncle Alistair, has it?"
Poirot said quickly:
"Why should you think so, Mademoiselle?"
"It hasn't? Good."
Japp took up Poirot's question.
"Why should you think anything had happened to
Mr. Blunt, Miss--"
He paused inquiringly.
The girl said mechanically:
"O!ivera. Jane O!ivera." Then she gave a slight
and rather unconvincing laugh. "Sleuths on the door.step
rather suggest bombs in the attic, don't they?"
"There's nothing wrong with Mr. Blunt, I'm
thankful to say, Miss Olivera."
She looked directly at Poirot.
"Did he call you in about something?"
Japp said:
"ff'e called on him, Miss O!ivera, to see if he could
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throw any light on a case of suicide that occurred this
morning."
She said sharply:
"Suicide? Whose? Where?"
"A Mr. Morley, a dentist, of 58 Queen Charlotte
Street."
"Oh!" said Jane Olivera blankly. "Oh!--" She
stared ahead of her frowning. Then she said unexpectedly:
"Oh, but that's absurd!" And turning on her heel
she left them abruptly and without ceremony, running
up the steps of the Gothic House and letting
herself in with a key.
"Well!" said Japp, staring after her, "that's an
extraordinary thing to say."
"Interesting," observed Poirot mildly.
Japp pulled himself together, glanced at.his watch
and hailed an approaching taxi.
"We'll have time to take the Sainsbury Seale on
our way to the Savoy."
IX
Miss Sainsbury Seale was in the dimly lit lounge of
the Glengowrie Court Hotel, having tea.
She was flustered by the appearance of a police officer
in plain clothes--but her excitement was of a
pleasurable nature, he observed. Poirot noticed, with
sorrow, that she had not yet sewn the buckle on her
shoe.
"Really, officer," fluted Miss Sainsbury Seale,
glancing round, "I really don't know where we could
go to be private. So difficult--just tea time--but per
50
Agatha Christie
haps you would care for some tea--and--and your
friend?"
"Not for me, Madam," said Japp. "This is M.
Hercule Poirot.".
"Really?" said Miss Sainsbury Seale. "Then
perhaps--you're sure--you won't either of you have
tea? No? Well, perhaps we might try the drawing-room,
though that's very often full. Oh, I see there is
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a corner over theremin the recess. The people are just
leaving. Shall we go therem''
She led the way to the comparative seclusion of a
sofa and two chairs in an alcove. Poirot and Japp
followed her, the former picking up a scarf and a
handkerchief that Miss Sainsbury Seale had shed en
route.
He restored them to her.
"Oh, thank youtso careless of me. Now please,
Inspectortno, Chief Inspector, isn't it?redo ask me
anything you like. So distressing the whole business.
Poor man--I suppose he had something on his mind?
Such worrying times we live in!"
"Did it seem to you he was worried, Miss Sainso
bury Seale?"
"Well--" Miss Sainsbury Seale reflected, and
finally said unwillingly:
"I can't really say, you know, that he did! But
then perhaps I shouldn't'noticemnot under the circumstances. I'm afraid I'm rather a coward, you
know." Miss Sainsbury Seale tittered a little and
patted her bird's-nestlike curls.
"Can you tell us who else was in the waiting room
while you were there?"
"Now let me see--there was just one young man
there when I went in. I think he was in pain because
he was muttering to himself and looking quite wild
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
51
and turning over the leaves of a magazine just anyhow.
And then suddenly he jumped up and went out.
Really acute toothache he must have had."
"You don't know whether he left the house when
he went out of tlte room?"
"I don't know at all. I imagined he just felt he
couldn't wait any longer and must see the dentist.
But it couldn't have been Mr. Morley he was going
to, because, the boy came in and took me up to Mr.
Morley only a few minutes later."
"Did you go into the waiting room again on your
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way out?"
"No. Because you see, I'd already put on my hat
and straightened my hair up in Mr. Morley's room.
Some people," went on Miss Sainsbury Seale, warming
to her subject, "take off their hats downstairs in
the waiting room, but I never do. A most distressing
thing happened to a friend of mine who did that. It
was a new hat and she put it very carefully on a chair,
and when she came down, would you believe it, a child had sat on it and squashed it flat. Ruined!
Absolutely
ruined!"
"A catastrophe," said Poirot politely.
"I blame the mother entirely," said Miss Sains*
bury Seale judicially. "Mothers should keep an eye
on their children. The little dears do not mean any
harm, but they have to be watched."
Japp said:
"Then this young man with toothache was the only
other patient you noticed at 58 Queen Charlotte
Street?"
"A gentleman came down the stairs and went out
just as I went up to Mr. Morley-- Oh! and I rememberAa
very peculiar looking .foreigner came out of
the house just as I arrived."
atha Christie
Japp coughed. Poirot said with dignity:
"That was I, Madame."
"Oh, dear!" Miss Sainsbury Seale peered at him.
"So it was! Do forgive--so short-sighted--and very
dark here, isn't it?" She trailed off into incoherencies.
"And really, you know, I flatter myself that I
have a very good memory for faces. But the light here is dim, isn't it? Do forgive my most unfortunate
mistake!"
They soothed the lady down, and Japp asked:
"You are quite sure Mr. Morley didn't say anything
such as--for instance--that he was expecting a
painful interview this morning? Anything of that
kind?"
"No, indeed, I'm sure he didn't.''
"He didn't mention a patient' by the name of
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Amberiotis?"
"No, no. He really said nothing--except, I mean,
the things that dentists have to say."
Through Poirot's mind there ran quickly: "Rinse.
Open a little wider, please. Now close gently."
Japp had proceeded to his next step. It would
possibly be necessary for Miss Sainsbury Seale to give
evidence at the inquest.
After a first scream of dismay, Miss Sainsbury
Seale seemed to take kindly to the idea. A tentative
inquiry from Japp produced Miss Sainsbury Seale's
whole life history.
She had, it seemed, come from India to England
six months ago. She had lived in various hotels and
boarding houses and had finally' come to the Glen-gowrie
Court which she liked very much because of
its homely atmosphere; in India she had lived mostly
in Calcutta where she had done mission work and
had also taught elocution.
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
53
"Pure, well enunciated English--most important,
Chief Inspector. You see--" Miss Sainsbury Seale
simpered and bridledt"as a girl I was on the stage.
Oh! only in small parts, you know. The provinces!
But I had great ambitions. Repertory. Then I went on
a world tour--Shakespeare, Bernard Shaw." She
sighed. "The trouble with us poor women is heart-- at the mercy of our hearts. A rash, impulsive
marriage.
Alas! we parted almost immediately. It! had
been sadly deceived. I resumed my maiden name. A
friend kindly provided me with a little capital and I
started my elocution school. I helped to found a very
good amateur dramatic society. I must show you
some of our notices."
Chief Inspector Japp knew the dangers of that! He
escaped, Miss Sainsbury Seale's last words beingt "and if, by any chance, my name should be in the
paperstas a witness at the inquest, I meantyou will be sure that it is spelled right? Mabelle Sainsbury
SealetMabelle spelt M.A.B.E.L.L.E., and Seale
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S.E.A.L.E. And of course, if they did care to mention
that I appeared in As You like It at the Oxford
Repertory Theatre--"
"Of course, of course." Chief Inspector Japp
fairly fled.
In the taxi, he sighed and wiped his forehead.
"If it's ever necessary, we ought to be able to
check up on her all right," he observed, "unless it
was all liesmbut that I don't believe!"
Poirot shook his head.
"Liars," he said, "are neither so circumstantial
nor so inconsequential."
$app went on:
"I was afraid she'd jib at the inquestmmost
middle, aged spinsters dotbut her having been an ac
latha rstie
tress accounts for her being eager. Bit of limelight for
her!"
Poirot said:
"Do you really want her at the inquest?"
"Probably not. It depends." He paused and then
said: "I'm more than ever convinced, Poirot. This
wasn't suicide."
"And the motive?"
"Has us beat for the moment. Suppose Morley
once seduced Amberiotis's daughter?"
Poirot was silent. He tried to visualize Mr. Morley
in the role of seducer to a luscious-eyed Greek
maiden, but failed lamentably.
He reminded Japp that Mr. Reilly had said his
partner had had no joy of living.
Japp said vaguely:
"Oh, well, you never know what may happen on a cruise!" .And he added with satisfaction, "We shall
know better where we stand when we've talked to this
fellow."
They paid off the taxi and entered the Savoy.
Japp asked for Mr. Amberiotis.
The clerk looked at thegn rather oddly. He said:
"Mr. Amberiotis? I'm sorry, sir, I'm afraid you
can't see him."
"Oh, yes, I can, my lad," Japp said grimly. He
drew the other a little aside and showed him his
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credentials.
The clerk said:
"You don't understand, sir. Mr. Amberiotis died
half an hour ago."
To Hercule Poirot it was as though a door had
gently but firmly shut.
3
Five, Six,
Pick Up Sticks
Twenty-four hours later Japp rang Poirot up. His. tone was bitter.
"Washout! The whole thing!"
"What do you mean, my friend?"
"Morley committed suicide all right. We've got the motive."
"What was it?"
"I've just had the doctor's report on Amberiotis' death. I won't give you the official jargon but in
plain English he died as the result of an overdose of
adrenaline and procaine. It acted on his heart, I
understand, and he collapsed. When the wretched
devil said he was feeling bad yesterday afternoon, he
was just speaking the truth. Well, there you are!
Adrenaline and procaine is the mixture dentists inject
into your gums--local anaesthetic. Morley made an
error, injected an overdose, and then after Amberi-
atha rstie
otis left, he realized what he had done, couldn't face the music and shot himself."
"With a pistol .he was not known to possess?"
queried Poirot.
"He may have possessed it all the same. Relations
don't know everything. You'd be surprised sometimes,
the things they don't know!"
"That is true, yes."
Japp said:
"Well, there you are. It's a perfectly logical explanation
of the whole thing."
Poirot said:
"You know, my friend, it does not quite satisfy
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me. It is true that patients have been known to react
unfavorably to these local anaesthetics. Adrenaline
idiosyncrasy is well known. In combination with procaine
toxic effects have followed quite small doses. But the doctor or dentist who employed the drug
does not usually carry his concern as far as killing
himself!"
"Yes, but you're talking of cases where the employment
of the anaesthetic was normal. In that case
no particular blame attaches to the surgeon concerned.
It is the idiosyncrasy of the patient that has caused
death. But in this case it's pretty clear that there
was a definite overdose. They haven't got the exact
amount yet--these quantitive analyses seem to take a
month of Sundays--but it was definitely more than
the normal dose. That means that Morley must have
made a mistake."
"Even then," said Poirot, "it was a mistake. It
would not be a criminal matter."
"No, but it wouldn't do him any good in his profession.
In fact, it would pretty well ruin him. Nobody's
going to go to a dentist who's likely to shoot
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
57
lethal doses of poison into you just because he happens
to be a bit absentminded."
"It was a curious thing to do, I admit."
"These things happen--they happen to doctorsm they happen to chemists. Careful and reliable for
years, and then--one moment's inattention--and the
mischief's done and the poor devils are for it. Morley
was a sensitive man. In the case of a doctor, there's
usually a chemist or a dispenser to share the blamem
or to shoulder it altogether. In this case Morley was
solely responsible."
Poirot demurred.
"Would he not have left some message behind
him? Saying what he had done? And that he could
not face the consequences? Something of that kind?
Just a word for his sister?"
"No, as I see it, he suddenly realized what had
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happened--and just lost his nerve and took the
quickest way out."
Poirot did not answer.
Japp said:
"I know you, old boy. Oace you've got your teeth
into a case of murder, you like it to be a case of
murder! I admit I'm responsible for setting you on
the track this time. Well, I made a mistake. I admit it
freely."
Poirot said:
"I still think, you know, that there might be
another explanation."
"Plenty of other explanations, I daresay. I've
thought of them--but they're all too fantastic. Let's
say that Amberiotis shot Morley, went home, was
filled with remorse and committed suicide, using
some stuff he'd pinched from Morley's surgery. If
you think that's likely, I think it's damned unlikely.
58
Agatha Christie
We've got a record of Amberiotis at the Yard. Quite
interesting. Started as a little hotelkeeper in Greece,
then he mixed himself up in politics. He's done espionage
work in Germany and in France--and made
very pretty little sums of money. But he wasn't getting
rich quick enough that way, and he's believed to
have done a spot or two of blackmail. Not a nice
man, our Mr. Amberiotis. He was out in India last
year and is believed to have bled one of the native
princes rather freely. The difficult thing has been
ever to prove anything against him. Slippery as an
eel! Then there is another possibility. He might have
been blackmailing Morley over something or other.
Morley, having a golden opportunity, plugs an overdose
of adrenaline and procaine into him, hoping
that the verdict will be an unfortunate accident--adrenaline
idiosyncrasy--something of that sort.
Then, after the man's gone away Morley gets a fit of
remorse and does himself in. That's possible, of
course, but I can't somehow see Morley as a deliberate
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murderer. No, I'm pretty sure it was what I first
said--a genuine mistake, made on a morning when
he was overworked. We'll have to leave it at that,
Poirot. I've talked to the A.C. and he's quite clear on
it."
"I see," said Poirot, with a sigh. "I see..."
Japp said kindly, "I know what you feel, old boy.
But you'can't have a nice juicy murder every time! So
long. All I can say by way of apology is the old
phrase: 'Sorry you have been troubled'!"
He rang off.
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
59
II
Hercule Poirot sat at his handsome modern desk. He liked modern furniture. Its squareness and solidity
were more agreeable to him than the soft contours
of antique models.
In front of him was a square sheet of paper with neat headings and comments. Against some of them
were query marks.
First came:
Amberiotis. Espionage. In England for that purpose? Was in India last year. During period of riots
and unrest. Could be a communist agent.
There was a space and then the next heading:
Frank Carter? Morley thought him unsatisfactory. Was discharged from his employment recently. Why?
After that came a name with merely a question mark:
Howard Raikes?
Next came a sentence in quotes:
"But that's absurd!" ???
Hercule Poirot's head was poised interrogatively. Outside the window a bird was carrying a twig to
build its nest. Hercule Poirot looked rather like a
bird as he sat there with his egg-shaped head cocked
on one side.
He made another entry a little further down.
Mr. Barnes?
He paused and then wrote:
Morley's office? Mark on carpet. Possibilities. He considered that last entry for some time.
Then he got up, called for his hat and stick and went out.
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Agatha Christie III
Three-quarters of an hour later Hercule Poirot came out of the underground station at Ealing
Broadway and five minutes after that he had reached
his destination--88 Castlegardens Road.
It was a small, semidetached house, and the neatness
of the front garden drew an admiring nod from
Hercule Poirot.
"Admirably symmetrical," he murmured to himself.
Mr. Barnes was at home and Poirot was shown
into a small precise dining room and here presently
Mr. Barnes came to him.
Mr. Barnes was a small man with twinkling eyes
and a nearly bald head. He peeped over the top of his
glasses at his visitor while in his left hand he twirled
the card that Poirot had given the maid.
He said in a small, prim, almost falsetto voice:
"Well, well, M. Poirot? I am honored, I am sure."
"You must excuse my calling upon you in this informal manner," said Poirot punctiliously.
"Much the best way," said Mr. Barnes. "And the
time is admirable, too. A quarter to sevenmvery
sound time at this period of the year for catching
anyone at home." He waved his hand. "Sit down,
M. Poirot. I've no doubt we've got a good deal to
talk about. Number 58 Queen Charlotte Street, I suppose?"
Poirot said:
"You suppose rightly--but why should you suppose
anything of the kind?"
"My dear sir," said Mr. Barnes, "I've been retired
from the Home Office for some time now--but I've
not gone quite rusty yet. If there's any hush hush
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
61
business, it's far better not tO use the police. Draws
attention to it all!"
Poirot said:
"I will ask yet another question. Why should you
suppose this is a hush hush business?"
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"Isn't it?" asked the other. "Well, if it isn't, in my
opinion it ought to be." He leaned forward and
tapped with his pince-nez' on the arm of the chair.
"In Secret Service work it's never the little fry you
want--it's the big bugs at the top--but to get them
you've got to be careful not to alarm the little fry."
"It seems to me, Mr. Barnes, that you know more
than I do," said Hercule Poirot.
"Don't know anything at all," replied the other,
"just put two and two together."
"One of those two being?"
"Amberiotis," said Mr. Barnes promptly. "You
forget I sat opposite to him in the waiting room for a
minute or two. He didn't know me. I was always an
insignificant chap. Not a bad thing sometimes. But I
knew him all right--and I could guess what he was up
to over here."
"Which was?"
Mr. Barnes twinkled more than ever.
"We're very tiresome people in this country. We're
conservative, you know, conservative to the backbone.
We grumble a lot, but we don't really want
to smash our democratic government and try newfangled
experiments. That's what's so heartbreaking
to the wretched foreign agitator who's working full
time and over! The whole trouble is--from their
point of view--that we really are, as a country,
comparatively solvent. Hardly any other country in
Europe is at the moment! To upset England--really
upset it--you've got to play hell with its finance--
62
Agatha Christie
that's what it comes to! And you can't play hell with its finance when you've got men like Alistair Blunt
at
the helm."
Mr. Barnes paused and then went on:
"Blunt is the kind of man who in private life would always pay his bills and live within his income--
whether
he'd got twopence a year or several million
makes no difference. He is that type of fellow. And
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he just simply thinks that there's no reason why a country shouldn't do the same! No costly experiments.
No frenzied expenditure on possible Utopias.
That's whyw" he pausedw"that's why certain
people have made up their minds that Blunt must
go."
"Ah," said Poirot.
Mr. Barnes nodded.
"Yes," he said. "I know what I'm talking about. Quite nice people, some of 'em. Long-haired, earn-est-
eyed,
and full of ideals of a better world. Others
not so nice, rather nasty in fact. Furtive little rats
with beards and foreign accents. And another lot
again of the Big Bully type. But they've all got the
same idea: Blunt Must Go!"
He tilted his chair gently back and forward again. "Sweep away the old order! The Tories, the
Conservatives,
the Die-hards, the hard-headed suspicious
Business Men, that's the idea. Perhaps these people
are rightml don't know--but I know one thing--you've
got to have something to put in the place of
the old order--something that will work--not just
something that sounds all right. Well, we needn't go
into that. We're dealing with concrete facts, not abstract
theories. Take away the props and the building
will come down. Blunt is one of the props of Things
as They Are."
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
63
He leaned forward.
"They're out after Blunt all right. That I know. And it's my opinion that yesterday morning they nearly
got him. I may be wrong--but it's been tried
before. The method, I mean."
He paused and then quietly, circumspectly, he
mentioned three names. An unusually able Chancellor
of the Exchequer, a progressive and farsighted
manufacturer, and a hopeful young politician who
had captured the public fancy. The first had died on
the operating table, the second had succumbed to an
obscure disease which had been recognized too late,
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the third had been run down by a car and killed.
"It's very easy," said Mr. Barnes. "The anaesthetist
muffed the giving of the anaesthetic--we!l,
that does happen. In the- second case the symptoms
were puzzling. The doctor was just a well meaning
G.P., couldn't be expected to recognize them. In the
third case, anxious mother was driving car in a hurry
to get to her sick child. Sob stuff--the jury acquitted
her of blame!"
He paused:
"All quite natural. And soon forgotten. But I'll
just tell you where those three people are now. The
anaesthetist is set up on his own with a first-class
research laboratory--no expense spared. That G.P.
has retired from practice. He's got a yacht, and a nice
little place on the Broads. The mother is giving all her
children a first-class education, ponies to ride in the
holidays, nice house in the country with a big garden
and paddocks."
He nodded his head slowly.
"In every'profession and walk of life there is someone who is vulnerable to temptation. The trouble
in our case was that Morley wasn't!"
64
Agatha Christie
"You think it was like that?" said Hercule Poirot.
Mr. Barnes said:
"I do. It's not easy to get at one of these big men,
you know. They're fairly well protected. The car
stunt is risky and doesn't always succeed. But a man
is defenseless enough in a dentist's chair."
He took off his pince-nez,, polished them and put
them on again. He said:
"That's my theory! Morley wouldn't do the job. He knew too much, though, so they had to put him
out."
"They?" asked Poirot.
"When I say they--I mean the organization that's
behind all this. Only one person actually did the job,
of course."
"Which person?"
"Well, I could make a guess," said Mr. Barnes,
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"but it's only a guess and I might be wrong."
Poirot said quietly:
"Reilly?"
"Of course! He's the obvious person. I think that
probably they never asked Morley to do the job himself. What he was to do, was to turn Blunt over to his
partner at the last minute. Sudden illness, something
of that sort. Reilly would have done the actual business-and
there would have been another regrettable
accident--death of a famous banker--unhappy
young dentist in court in such a state of dither and
misery that he would have been let down lightly.
He'd have given up dentistry afterwards--and settled
down somewhere on a nice income of several thousands
a year."
Mr. Barnes looked across at Poirot.
"Don't think I'm romancing," he said. "These
things happen."
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
65
"Yes, yes, I know they happen."
Mr. Barnes went on, tapping a book with a lurid jacket that lay on a table close at hand:
"I read a lot of these spy yarns. Fantastic, some of them. But curiously enough they're not any more
fantastic than the real thing. There are beautiful
adventuresses, and dark sinister men with foreign accents,
and gangs and international associations and
supercrooks! I'd blush to see some of the things I
know set down in print--nobody would believe them
for a minute!"
Poirot said:
"In your theory, where does Amberiotis come in?"
"I'm not quite sure. I think he was meant to take the rap. He's played a double game more than once
and I daresay he was framed. That's only an idea,
mind."
Hercule Poirot said quietly:
"Granting that your ideas are correct--what will happen next?"
Mr. Barnes rubbed his nose.
"They'll try to get him again," he said. "Oh, yes. They'll have another try. Time's short. Blunt has got
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people looking after him, I daresay. They'll have to
be extra careful. It won't be a man hiding in a bush
with a pistol. Nothing so crude as that. You tell 'em
to look out for the respectable people--the relations,
the old servants, the chemist's assistant who makes
up a medicine, the wine merchant who sells him his
port. Getting Alistair Blunt out of the way is worth a
great many millions, and it's wonderful what people
will do for--say, a nice little income of four thousand
a year!"
"As much as that?"
66 Agatha Christie
"Possibly more .... "
Poirot was silent a moment, then he said: "I have had Reilly in mind from the first."
"Irish? I.R.A.?"
"Not that so much but there was a mark, you see, on the carpet, as though ,the body had been dragged
along it. But if Morley was shot by a patient he would
be shot in the surgery and there would be no need to
move the body. That is why, from the first, I suspected
that he had been shot, not in the surgery, but
in his office--next door. That would mean that it was
not a patient who shot him, but some member of his
own household."
"Neat," said Mr. Barnes appreciatively. Hercule Poirot got up and held out a hand.
"Thank you," he said. "You have helped me a great deal."
IV
On his way home, Poirot called in at the Glen-gowrie Court Hotel.
As a result of that visit he rang up Japp very early the following morning.
"Bonjour, mo: ami. The inquest is to-day, is it not?"
"It is. Are you going to attend?"
"I do not think so."
"It won't really be worth your while, I expect."
"Are you calling Miss Sainsbury Seale as a witness?"
"The lovely Mabe!le--why can't she just spell it plain Mabel? These women get my goat! No, I'm not
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6
calling her. There's no need."
"You have heard nothing from her?" "No, why should I?"
Hercule Poirot said:
"I wondered, that was all. Perhaps it may interes you to learn that Miss Sainsbury Seale walked out o
the Glengowrie Court Hotel just before dinner thl
night before last--and did not come back." "What? She's hooked it?"
"That is a possible explanation."
"But why should she? She's quite all right, know. Perfectly genuine and aboveboard. I cable
to Calcutta about her--that was before I knew th
reason for Amberiotis' death, otherwise I shouldn'
have bothered--and I got the reply last night. Every
thing O.K. She's been known there for years, and he
whole account of herself is true--except that sh
slurred over her marriage a bit. Married a Hindu st
dent and then found he'd got a few attachmen!
already. So she resumed her maiden name and too
to good works. She's hand in gloves with the mi:
sionaries--teaches elocution and helps in amateu
dramatic shows. In fact, what I call a terrible woma
--but definitely above suspicion of being mixed up i
a murder. And now you say she's walked out on us!
can't understand it." He paused a minute and the
went on doubtfully: "Perhaps she just got fed u
with that hotel? I could have easily."
Poirot said:
"Her luggage is still there. She took nothing wi her."
Japp swore.
"When did she go?"
"About a quarter to seven."
68 Agatha Christie
"What about the hotel people?"
"They're very upset. Manageress looked quite distraught.''
"Why didn't they report to the police?" "Because, mon cher, supposing that a lady does
happen to stay out for a night (however unlikely it
may seem from her appearance) she will be justifiably
annoyed by finding on her return that the police
have been called in. Mrs. Harrison, the manageress
in question, called up various hospitals in case there
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had been an accident. She was considering notifying
the police when I called. My appearance seemed to
her like an answer to prayer. I charged myself with
everything, and explained that I would enlist the help
of a very discreet police officer."
"The discreet police officer being yours truly, I suppose?"
"You suppose rightly."
Japp groaned:
"All right. I'll meet you at the Glengowrie Court Hotel after the inquest."
V
Japp grumbled as they were waiting for the manageress.
"What does the woman want to disappear for?" "It is curious, you admit?"
They had no time for more.
Mrs. Harrison, proprietor of the Glengowrie Court, was with them.
Mrs. Harrison was voluble and almost tearful. She was so worried about Miss Sainsbury Seale. What
could have happened to her? Rapidly she went over
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
69
every possibility of disaster. Loss of memory, sudden illness, hemorrhage, run down by an omnibus,
robbery
and assault--
She paused at last for breath, murmuring:
"Such a nice type of woman--and she seemed so happy and comfortable here."
She took them, at Japp's request, up to the chaste bedroom occupied by the missing lady. Everything
was neat and orderly. Clothes hung in the wardrobe,
nightclothes were folded ready on the bed, in a
corner were Miss Sainsbury $eale's two modest suitcases.
A row of shoes stood under the dressing table
--some. serviceable Oxfords, two pairs of rather
meretricious glac fancy shoes with court heels and
ornamented with bows of leather, some plain black
satin evening shoes, practically new, and a pair of
moccasins. Poirot noted that the evening shoes were
a size smaller than the day ones--a fact that might
be put down to corns or to vanity. He wondered
whether Miss $ainsbury $eale had found time to sew
the second buckle on her shoe before she went out.
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He hoped so. Slovenliness in dress always annoyed
him.
Japp was busy looking through some letters in a drawer of the dressing table. Hercule Poirot gingerly
pulled open a drawer of the chest of drawers. It was
full of underclothing. He shut it again modestly,
murmuring that Miss Sainsbury Seale seemed to
believe in wearing wool next the skin, and opened
another drawer which contained stockings.
Japp said:
"Got anything, Poirot?"
Poirot said sadly, as he dangled a pair: "Ten inch, cheap shiny silk, price probably 2/11."
Japp said:
70 Agatha Christie
"You're not valuing for probate, old boy. Two
letters here from India, one or two receipts from
charitable organizations, no bills. Most estimable
character, our Miss Sainsbury Seale."
"But very little taste in dress," said Poirot sadly.
"Probably thought dress worldly." Japp was noting
down an address from an old letter dated two
months back.
"These people may know something about her,"
he. said. "Address up Hampstead way. Sound as
though they were fairly intimate."
There was nothing more to be gleaned at the G!engowrie
Court Hotel except the negative fact that Miss
Sainsbury Seale had not seemed excited or worried in
any way when she went out, and it would appear that
she had definitely intended to return since, on passing
her friend Mrs. Bolitho in the hall, she had called
out:
"After dinner I will show you that Patience I was
telling you about."
Moreover, it was the custom at the Glengowrie
Court to give notice in the dining room if you intended
to be out for a meal. Miss Sainsbury Seale had
not done so. Therefore, it seemed clear that she had
intended returning for dinner which was served from
seven-thirty to eight-thirty.
But she had not returned. She had walked out into
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the Cromwell Road and disappeared.
Japp and Poirot called at the address in West
Hampstead which had headed the letter found.
It was a pleasant house and the Adamses were
pleasant people with a large family. They had lived
in India for many years and spoke warmly of Miss
Sainsbury Seale. But they could not help.
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71
They had not seen her lately, not for a month, in
fact, not since they came back from their Easter holidays.
She had been staying then at a hotel near Russell
Square. Mrs. Adams gave Poirot the address of
it and also the address of some other Anglolndian
friends of Miss Sainsbury Seale's who lived in Streat-ham.
But the two men drew a blank in both places. Miss
Sainsbury Seale had stayed at the hotel in question,
but they remembered very.little about her and nothing
that could be of any help. She was a nice quiet
lady and had lived abroad. The people in Streatham
were no help either. They had not seen Miss Sains-bury
Seale since February.
There remained the possibility of an accident, but
that possibility was dispelled, too. No hospital had
admitted any casualty answering to the description
given.
Miss Sainsbury Seale had disappeared into space.
VI
On the following morning, Poirot went to the
Holborn Palace Hotel and asked for Mr. Howard
Raikes.
By this time it would hardly have surprised him to
hear that Mr. Howard Raikes, too, had stepped out
one evening and had never returned.
Mr. Howard Raikes, however, was still at the Hol-born
Palace and was said to be breakfasting.
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table seemed to give Mr. Raikes doubtful pleasure.
Though not looking so murderous as in Poirot's
ata
disordered recollection of him, his scowl was still for-midable--he
stared at his uninvited guest and said
ungraciously:
"What the he!l?"
"You permit?"
Hercule Poirot drew a chair from another table.
Mr. Raikes said:
''Don't mind me! Sit down and make yourself at
home!"
Poirot smilingly availed himself of the permission.
Mr. Raikes said ungraciously:
"Well, what do you want?"
"Do you remember me at all, Mr. Raikes?"
"Never set eyes on you in my life."
"There you are wrong. You sat in the same room
with me for at least five minutes not more than three
days ago."
"I can't remember everyone I meet at some Goddamned
party or other."
"It was not a party," said Poirot. "It was a dentist's
waiting room."
Some swift emotion flashed into the young man's
eyes and died again at once. His manner changed. It
was no longer impatient and casual. It became suddenly
wary. He looked across at Poirot and said:
"Well?"
Poirot studied him carefully before replying. He
felt, quite positively, that this was indeed a dangerous
young man. A lean, hungry face, an aggressive
jaw, the eyes of a fanatic. It was a face, though, that
women might find attractive. He was untidily, even
shabbily dressed, and he ate with a careless voraciousness
that was, so the man watching him
thought, significant.
Poirot summed him up to himself.
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"It is a wolf with ideas..."
Raikes said harshly:
"What the hell do you mean--coming here like
this?"
"My visit is disagreeable to you?"
"I don't even know who you are."
"I apologize."
Dexterously Poirot whipped out his card case. He
extracted a card and passed it across the table.
Again that emotion that he could not quite define
showed upon Mr. Raikes' lean face. It was not fear--it
was more aggressive than fear. After it, quite unquestionably,
came anger.
He tossed the card back.
"So that's who you are, is it? I've heard of you."
"Most people have," said Hercule Poirot modestly.
"You're a private dick, aren't you? The expensive
kind. The kind people hire when money is no object
--when it's worth paying anything in order to save
their miserable skins!"
"If you do not drink your coffee," said Hercule
Poirot, "it will get cold."
He spoke kindly and with authority.
Raikes stared at him.
"Say, just what kind of an insect are you?"
"The coffee in this country is very bad anyway--"
said Poirot.
I'll say it is," agreed Mr. Raikes with fervor.
"But if you allow it to get cold it is practically undrinkable."
The young man leaned forward.
"What are you getting at? What's the big idea in
coming round here?"
Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
74
Agatha Christie
"I wanted to--see you."
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"Oh, yes?" said Mr. Raikes sceptically.
His eyes narrowed.
"If it's money you're after, you've come to the wrong man! The people I'm in with can't afford to buy
what they want. Better go back to the man who
pays you your salary."
Poirot said, sighing:
"Nobody has paid me anything--yet."
"You're telling me," said Mr. Raikes.
"It is the truth," said Hercule Poirot. "I am wasting a good deal of valuable time for no recompense
whatsoever. Simply, shall we say, to assuage my curiosity.''
"And I suppose," said Mr. Raikes, "you were just assuaging your curiosity at that darned dentist's the
other day."
Poirot shook his head. He said:
"You seem to overlook the most ordinary reason for being in a dentist's waiting room--which is that
one is waiting to have one's teeth attended to."
"So that's what you were doing?" Mr. Raikes' tone expressed contemptuous unbelief. "Waiting to
have your teeth seen to?"
"Certainly."
"You'll excuse me if I say I don't believe it." '
"May I ask then, Mr. Raikes, whatyou were doing there?"
Mr. Raikes grinned suddenly. He said:
"Got you there! I was waiting to have my teeth seen to also."
"You had perhaps the toothache?"
"That's right, big boy."
"But all the same, you went away without having your teeth attended to?"
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
75
"What if I did? That's my business."
He paused--then he said, with a quick savagery of tone,
"Oh, what the hell's the use of all this slick talking?
You were there to look after your big shot. Well,
he's all right, isn't he? Nothing happened to your
precious Mr. Alistair Blunt. You've nothing on me."
Poirot said:
"Where did you go when you went so abruptly out
of the waiting room?"
"Left the house, of course."
"Ah!" Poirot looked up at the ceiling. "But nobody
saw you leave, Mr. Raikes."
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"Does that matter?"
"It might. Somebody died in that house not long
afterwards, remember."
Raikes said carelessly:
"Oh, you mean the dentist fellow."
Poirot's tone was hard as he said:
"Yes, I mean the dentist fellow."
Raikes stared. He said:
"You trying to pin that on me? Is that the game? Well , you can't do it. I've just read the account of
the inquest yesterday. The poor devil shot himself
because he'd made a mistake with a local anaesthetic
and one of his patients died."
Poirot went on unmoved:
"Can you prove that you left the house when you
say you did? Is there anyone who can say definitely
where you were between twelve and one?"
The other's eyes narrowed.
"So you are trying to pin it on me? I suppose Blunt
put you up to this?"
Poirot sighed. He said:
"You will pardon me, but it seems an obsession
76
Agatha Christie
with you--this persistent harping on Mr. Alistair Blunt. I am not employed by him, I never have been
employed by him. I am concerned, not with his
safety, but with the death of a man who did good
work in his chosen profession."
Raikes shook his head.
"Sorry," he said. "I don't believe you. You're Blunt's private dick all right." His face hardened as
he leaned across the table. "But you can't save him,
you know. He's got to go--he and everything he
stands for! There's got to be a new deal--the old cot-rupt
system of finance has got to go--this cursed net
of bankers all over the world like a spider's web.
They've got to be swept away. I've nothing against
Blunt personally--but he's the type of man I hate.
He's mediocre--he's smug. He's the sort you can't
move unless you use dynamite. He's the sort of man
who says, 'You can't disrupt the foundations of
civilization.' Can't you, though? Let him wait and
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see! He's an obstruction in the way of progress and
he's got to be removed. There's no room in the world
to-day for men like Blunt--men who hark back to
the past--men who want to live as their fathers lived
or even as their grandfathers lived! You've got a lot
of them here in England--crusted old diehards--useless
worn-out symbols of a decayed era. And my
God, they've got to go! There's got to be a new
world. Do you get me--a new world, see?"
Poirot sighed and rose. He said:
"I see, Mr. Raikes, that you are an idealist." "What if I am?"
"Too much of an idealist to care about the death of a dentist."
Mr. Raikes said scornfully:
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
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"What does the death of one miserable dentist matter?"
Hercule Poirot said:
"It does not matter to you. It matters to me. That is the difference between us."
Vll
Poirot arrived home to be informed by George that a lady was waiting to see him.
"She is--ahem--a little nervous, sir," said George.
Since the lady had given no name Poirot was at liberty to guess. He guessed wrong, for the young
woman who rose agitatedly from the sofa as he
entered was the late Mr. Morley's secretary, Miss
Galdys Nevill.
"Oh, dear, M. Poirot. I am so sorry to worry you like this--and really I don't know how I had the
courage to come--I'm afraid you'll think it very bold
of me--and I'm sure I don't want to take up your
time--I know what time means to a busy professional
man--but really I have been so unhappy--only
I daresay you will think it all a waste of time--"
Profiting by a long experience of the English people, Poirot suggested a cup of tea. Miss Nevill's
reaction was all that could be hoped for.
"Well, really, M. Poirot, that's very kind of you. Not that it's so very long since breakfast, but one can
always do with a cup of tea, can't one?"
Poirot, who could always do without one, assented mendaciously. George was instructed to this effect
and in a miraculously short time, Poirot and his
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78 Agatha Christie
visitor faced each other across a tea tray.
"I must apologize to you," said Miss Nevi!l, regaining
her usual aplomb under the influence of the
beverage, "but as a matter of fact the inquest yesterday
upset me a good deal."
"I'm sure it must have," said Poirot kindly.
"There was no question of my giving evidence, or
anything like that. But I felt somebody ought to go
with Miss Morley. Mr. Reilly was there, of course--but
I meant a woman. Besides, Miss Morley doesn't like Mr. Reilly. So I thought it was my duty to go."
"That was very kind of you," said Poirot, encouragingly.
"Oh, no, I just felt I had to. You see, I have
worked for Mr. Morley for quite a number of years
now--and the whole thing was a great shock to
and of course the inquest made it worse--"
"I'm afraid it must have."
Miss Nevill leaned forward earnestly.
"But it's all wrong, M. Poirot. It really is all
wrong."
"What is wrong, Mademoiselle?"
"Well, it just couldn't have happened--not the
way they make out--giving a patient an overdose in
injecting the gum, I mean."
"You think not."
"I'm sure about it. Occasionally patients do suffer
ill effects, but that is because they are physiologically
unfit subjects--their heart action isn't normal. But I'm sure that an overdose is a very rare thing. You see
practitioners get so into the habit of giving the regulation
amount that it is absolutely mechanical--
they'd give the right dose automatically."
Poirot nodded approvingly. He said:
"That is what I thought myself, yes."
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"It's so standardized, you see. It's not like a chemist who is making up different amounts the
whole time, or multiplying dosage, where an error
might creep in through inattention. Or a doctor who
writes a great many different prescriptions. But a
dentist isn't like that at all."
Poirot asked:
"You did not ask to be allowed to make these observations in the coroner's court?"
Gladys Nevill shook her head. She twisted her fingers uncertainly.
"You see," she broke out at last, "I was afraid of--of making things worse. Of course I know that
Mr. Morley wouldn't do such a thing--but it might
make people think that he--that he had done it
deliberately." ·.
Poirot nodded.
G!adys Nevill said:
"That's why I came to you, M. Poirot. Because with you it--it wouldn't be official in any way. But I
do think somebody ought to know how--how unconvincing the whole thing is."
"Nobody wants to know," said Poirot.
She stared at him, puzzled.
· Poirot said:
"I should like to know a little more about that telegram you received, summoning you away that
day."
"Honestly, I don't know what to think about that, M. Poirot. It does seem so queer. You see, it must
have been sent by someone who knew all about me
--and Aunt--where she lived and everything."
"Yes, it would seem as though it must have been sent by one of your intimate friends, or by someone
who lived in the house and knew all about you."
80 Agatha Christie
"None of my friends would do such a thing, M. Poirot."
"You have no ideas yourself on the subject?" The girl hesitated. She said slowly:
"Just at first, when I realized that Mr. Morley had shot himself, I wondered if he could possibly have
sent it."
"You mean, out of consideration for you, to get
you out of the way?"
The girl nodded.
"But that really seemed a fantastic idea, even if he had got the idea of suicide in his mind that morning.
It's really very odd. Frank--my friend, you know--was
quite absurd at first about it. He accused me of
wanting to go off for the day with somebody else--as
though I would do such a thing." "Is there a somebody else?"
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Miss Nevill blushed.
"No, of course there isn't. But Frank has been so different lately--so moody and suspicious. Really,
you know, it was losing his job and not being able to
get another. Just hanging about is so bad for a man.
I've been very worried about Frank."
"He was upset, was he not, to find you had gone away that day?"
"Yes; you see, he came round to tell me he had got a new job--a marvelous job--ten pounds a week.
And he couldn't wait. He wanted me to know right
away. And I think he wanted Mr. Morley to know,
too, because he'd been very hurt at the way Mr.
Morley didn't appreciate him, and he suspected Mr.
Morley of trying to influence me against him." "Which was true, was it not?"
"Well, yes, it was, in a way! Of course Frank has lost a good many jobs and he hasn't been, perhaps,
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
81
what most people would call very steady. But it will be different now. I think one can do so much by
influence,
don't you, M. Poirot? If a man feels a
woman expects a lot of him, he tries to live up to her
ideal of him."
Poirot sighed. But he did not argue. He had heard
many hundreds of women produce that same argument,
with the same blithe belief in the redeeming
power of a woman's love. Once in a thousand times,
he supposed, cynically, it might be true.
He merely said:
"I should like to meet this friend of yours."
"I'd love to have you meet him, M. Poirot. But
just at present Sunday is his only free day. He's away
in the country all the week, you see."
"Ah, on the new job. What is the job, by the
way?"
"Well, I don't exactly know, M. Poirot. Something
in the secretarial line, I imagine. Or some government
department. I know I have to send letters to
Frank's London address and they get forwarded."
"That is a little odd, is it not?"
"Well, I thought so--but Frank says it is often
done nowadays."
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Poirot looked at her for a moment or two without
speaking.
Then he said deliberately:
"To-morrow is Sunday, is it not? Perhaps you
would both give me the Pleasure of lunching with me
--at Logan's Corner House? I should like to discuss
this sad business with you both."
"Well--thank you, M. Poirot. 1--yes, I'm sure
we'd like to lunch with you very much."
82
Agatha Christie
VIII
Frank Carter was a fair young man of medium
height. His appearance was cheaply smart. He talked
readily and fluently. His eyes were set rather close
together and they had a way of shifting uneasily from
side to side when he was embarrassed.
He was inclined to be suspicious and slightly
hostile.
"I'd no idea we were to have the pleasure of lunching
with you, M. Poirot. Gladys didn't tell me anything
about it."
He shot hor a rather annoyed glance as he spoke.
"It was only arranged yesterday," said Poirot,
smiling. "Miss Neviil is very upset by the circumstances
of Mr. Morley's'death and I wondered if we
put our heads togethert''
Frank Carter interrupted him rudely.
"Morley's death? I'm sick of Morley's death! Why
can't you forget him, Gladys? There wasn't anything
so wonderful about him that I can see."
"Oh, Frank, I don't think you ought to say that. Why, he left me a hundred pounds. I got the letter
about it last night."
"That's all right," admitted Frank grudgingly.
"But after all, why shouldn't he? He worked you like
a slavetand who pocketed all the fat fees? Why, he
did!"
"Well, of course he did--he paid me a very good
salary."
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"Not according to my ideas! You're too humble
altogether, Gladys, my girl, you let yourself be put
upon, you know. I sized Morley up all right. You
know as well as I do that he tried his best to get you
to give me the chuck."
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
83
"He didn't understand."
"He understood all right. The man's dead now
--otherwise I can tell you I'd have given him a piece
of my mind."
"You actually came round to do so on the morning
of his death, did you not?" Hercule Poirot inquired
gently.
Frank Carter said angrily:
"Who's been saying so?"
"You did come round, did you not?"
"What if I did? I wanted to see Miss Nevill here."
"But they told you she was away."
"Yes, and that made me pretty suspicious, I can
tell you. I told that red-headed oaf I'd wait and
see Morley myself. This business of putting Gladys
against me had gone on long enough. I meant to tell
Morley that instead of being a poor unemployed
rotter, I'd landed a good job and that it was about
time Oladys handed in her notice and thought about
her trousseau."
"But you did not actually tell him so?"
"No, I got tired of waiting in that dingy mausoleum.
I went away."
"What time did you leave?"
"I can't remember."
"What time did you arrive then?"
"I don't know. Soon after twelve, I should imagine.''
"And you stayed half an hour--or longer--or less
than half an hour?"
"I don't know, I tell you. I'm not the sort of chap
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who's always looking at a clock."
"Was there anyone in the waiting room while you
were there?"
"There was an oily fat bloke when I went in, but
Aata ritie
he wasn't there long. After that I was alone."
"Then you must have left before half-past twelve
--for at that time a lady arrived."
"Daresay I did. The place got on my nerves as I tell
you."
Poirot eyed him thoughtfully.
The bluster was uneasy--it did not ring quite true.
And yet that might be explained by mere nervousness.
Poirot's manner was simple and friendly as he
said:
"Miss Nevill tells me that you have been very fortunate
and have found a very good job indeed."
"The pay's good."
"Ten pounds a week, she tells me."
"That's right. Not too dusty, is it? Shows I can
pull it off when I set my mind to it."
He swaggered a little.
"Yes, indeed. And the work is not too arduous?"
Frank Carter said shortly:
"Not too bad."
"And interesting?"
"Oh, yes, quite interesting. Talking of jobs, I've
always been interested to know how you private
detectives go about things? I suppose there's not
much of the Sherlock Holmes touch really? Mostly
divorce nowadays?"
"I do not concern myself with divorce."
"Really? Then I don't see how you live."
"I manage, my friend, I manage."
"But you're right at the top of the tree, aren't you,
M. Poirot?" put in Gladys Nevill. "Mr. Morley used
to say so. I mean you're the sort of person ROyalty
calls in, or the Home Office or Duchesses."
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Poirot smiled upon her.
"You flatter me," he said.
IX
Poirot walked home through the deserted streets in
a thoughtful frame of mind.
When he got in, he rang up Japp.
"Forgive my troubling you, my friend, but did you
ever do anything in the matter of tracing that
telegram that was sent to Gladys Nevill?"
"Still harping on the subject? Yes, we did, as a
matter of fact. There was a telegram andwrather
clever--the Aunt lives at Richbourne in Somerset.
The telegram was handed in at Richbarn--you know,
the London suburb."
Hercule Poirot said appreciatively:
"That was clevermyes, that was clever. If the recipient
happened to glance at where the telegram was
handed in, the word would look sufficiently like
Richbourne to carry conviction."
He paused.
"Do you know what I think, Japp?"
"Well?"
"There are signs of brains in this business."
"Hercule Poirot wants it to be murder, so it's got
to be murder."
"How do you explain that telegram?"
"Coincidence. Someone was hoaxing the girl."
"Why should they?"
"Oh, my goodness, Poirot, why do people do
things? Practical jokes, hoaxes. Misplaced sense of
humor, that's all."
· 86
Agatha Christie
"And somebody felt like being funny just on the
day that Morley was going to make a mistake over an
injection."
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"There may have been a certain amount of cause
and effect. Because Miss Neviil was away, Morley
was more rushed than usual and consequently was
more likely to make a mistake."
"I am still not satisfied."
"I daresay--but don't you see where your view is
leading you? If anybody got la Nevill out of the way,
it was probably Morley himself. Making his killing of
Amberiotis deliberate and not an accident."
Poirot was silent. Japp said:
"You see?"
Poirot said:
"Amberiotis might have been killed some other
way."
"Not he. Nobody came to see him at the Savoy.
He lunched up in his room. And the doctors say the
stuff was definitely injected, not taken by mouth--it
wasn't in the stomach. So there you are. It's a clear case. ' '
"That is what we are meant to think.'"
"The A.C. is satisfied anyway."
"And he is satisfied with the disappearing lady?"
"The Case of the Vanishing Sal? No, I can tell
you, we're still working on that. That woman's got to be somewhere. You can't just walk out into the
street
and disappear."
"She seems to have done so."
"For the moment. But she must be somewhere,
alive or dead, and I don't think she is dead."
"Why not?"
"Because we'd have found her body by now."
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
"Oh, my $app, do bodies always come to light so
soon'?."
"I suppose you're hinting that she's been murdered
now and that we'll find her in a quarry, cut up
in little pieces like Mrs. Ruxton?"
"After all, mon ami, you do have missing persons
who are not found."
"Very seldom, old boy. Lots of women disappear,
yes, but we usually find 'em, all right. Nine times out
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of ten it's a case of good old sex. They're somewhere
with a man. But I don't think it could be that with
our Mabel, do you?"
"One never knows," said Poirot cautiously. "But
I do not think it likely. So you are sure of finding
her?"
"We'll find her all right. We're publishing a description of her to the press and we're roping in the B.B.C."
"Ah," said Poirot, "I fancy that may bring developments.''
"Don't worry, old boy. We'll find your missing
beauty for youtwoollen underwear and all."
He rang off.
George entered the room with his usual noiseless
tread. He set down on a little table a steaming pot of
chocolate and some sugar biscuits.
"Will there be anything else, sir?"
"I am in great perplexity of mind, George."
"Indeed, sir? I am sorry to hear it."
· Hercule Poirot poured himself out some chocolate
and stirred it thoughtfully.
George stood deferentially waiting, recognizing the
signs. There were moments when Hercule Poirot discussed
his cases with his valet. He always said that he
88
Agatha Christie
found George's comments singularly helpful.
"You are aware, no doubt, George, of the death of m dentist?"
*'Mr. Morley, sir? Yes, sir. Very distressing, sir. He shot himself, I understand."
'That is the general understanding. If he did not
shoot himself, he was murdered."
"Yes, sir."
'The question is, if he was murdered, who mrdered him?"
'Quite so, sir."
"There are only a certain number of people, George, who could have murdered him. That is to
san the people who were actually in, or could have
ben in the house at the time."
"Quite so, sir."
"Those people are: a cook and a housemaid, amiable domestics and highly unlikely to do anything
of the kind. A devoted sister, also highly unlikely,
but who does inherit her brother's money such as it
is-and one can never entirely neglect the financial
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as!ct. An able and efficient partner--no motive
known. A somewhat bone-headed page boy addicted
to heap crime stories. And lastly, a Greek gentleman
of omewhat doubtful antecedents."
(eorge coughed.
"These foreigners, sir--"
"Exactly. I agree perfectly. The Greek gentleman is decidedly indicated. But you see, George, the
Greek gentleman also died and apparently it was
Mr. Morley who killed him--whether by intention or
as the result of an unfortunate error we cannot be sUF."
"It might be, sir, that they killed each other. I mean, sir, each gentleman had formed the idea of
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
doing the other genfieman in, though of course gentleman was unaware of the other gentleman's i
tention."
Hercule Poirot purred'approvingly.
"Very ingenious, George. The dentist murders ti
unfortunale gentleman who sits in the chair, not tel
izing that the said victim is at that moment medit/ ing exactlyr at what moment to whip out his pistol
could, of £ourse, be so but it seems to me, Geor8
extremely lmlikely. And we have not come to the
of our list yet. There are still two other people wi
might possibly have been in the house at the giv,
moment, lEvery patient before Mr. Amberiotis
actually seen to leave the house with the exception
one--a young American gentleman. He left the wai
ing room/it about twenty minutes to twelve, but
one actually saw him leave the house. We mul
therefore, count him as a possibility. The other pi
sibility is certain Mr. Frank Carter (not a patiel
who came to the house at a little after twelve with t
intention of seeing Mr. Morley. Nobody saw h
leave, either. Those, my good George, are the fac
what do yOU think of them?"
"At wht time was the murder committed, sir?" "If the murder was committed by Mr. Amberioti
it was cofnmitted at any time between twelve m
five and twenty past. If by somebody else, it w
committed after twenty-five minutes past twelve,
otherwise Mr. Amberiotis would have noticed t
corpse. ' '
He looked encouragingly at George.
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"Now, my good George, what have You to s
about the matter?"
George pondered. He said:
"It strikes me, sir--"
90
Agatha Christie
"Yes, George?"
"You will have to find another dentist to attend to
your teeth in future, sir."
Hercule Poirot said:
"You surpass yourself, George. That aspect of the
matter had not as yet occurred to me!"
Looking gratified, George left the room.
Hercule Poirot remained sipping his chocolate and
going over the facts he had just outlined. He felt
satisfied that they were as he had stated them. Within
that circle of persons was the hand that had actually
done the deed--no matter whose the inspiration had
been.
Then his eyebrows shot up as he realized that the
list was incomplete. He had left out one name.
And no one must be left out--not even the most
unlikely person.
There had been one other person in the house at
the time of the murder.
He wrote down:
"Mr. Barnes."
X
George announced:
"A lady to speak to you on the telephone, sir."
A week ago, Poirot had guessed wrongly the identity
of a visitor. This time his guess was right.
He recognized the voice at once.
"M. Hercule Poirot?"
"Speaking."
"This is Jane O!ivera--Mr. A!istair Blunt's niece."
"Yes, Miss O!ivera."
"Could you come to the Gothic House, please?
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ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
91
There. Jomething I feel you ought to know"
15 '.
·
'
,,r tnly. What time would be convenient?"
,, 30, please."
,,t.!:1 De there."
.oment e autratic note way:
Fo
"lla ,ppe I am not iteptg your work?"
,,t all. I was exacting you to call me.
u,' down the reiver quickly He moved away
' pu
'
miling. He wondered what excuse Jane
Olive' d found for summoning him
O arfval at the Gothic Hou he w shown
straight 'Pt° the big..library overlooking the river.
A!istir Junt was mtmg at the writing robie playing
abse2" ifldedly with a par knife. He had e
.,. rsed lk of a man whose wonfolk
..... a t much for him
...
,. lvera was standing by the mantelpe A
plumiddle-ag woman was saking fretfully
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as P enter--"d I rlly think my flings
shOuJd bg consder m the matt, Ahsmir."
,,v julia, of court, of court."
Aj
thiny
to to grt
Blunt
spoke
he
Poirq
,,st. if you're going to talk horrors I shall lve
the .... ad te good lady.
,q . ,dd, mother, md Je Olivera.
jivera swept
the room wthout con-
fxom
d a
to take any notice of Poirot
Aqstaff Blunt said:
"I[,s We good of yo to come, M. Poirot. You've
met Mis Olivera, I thik? It was she who sent for
you'
e sid abruptly:
., .out this missing woman that the pars are
sS,
.
,
full if. ss Something eale. '
92
Agatha Christie
"Sainsbury Scale? Yes?"
"It's such a pompous name, that's why I remem
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her. Shall I tell him, or will you, Uncle Alistair?"
"My dear, it's your story."
Jane turned once more to Poirot.
"It mayn't be important in the least--but 1
thought you ought to know."
"Yes.*"
"It was the last time Uncle Alistair went to th
dentist's--I don't mean the other day--I mean about
three months ago. I went with him to Queen Char*
lotte Street in the Rolls and it was to take me on to
some friends in Regent's Park and come back for
him. We stopped at Number 58, and Uncle got out,
and just as he did, a woman came out of Number 58
--a middle-aged woman with fussy hair and rather
arty clothes. She made a bee line for Uncle and said
(Jane Olivera's voice rose to an affected squeak):
'Oh, Mr. Blunt, you don't remember me, I'm sure.t' Well, of course, I could see by Uncle's face that he
didn't remember her in the slightest--"
Alistair Blunt sighed.
"I never do. People are always saying it--"
"He put on his special face," went on Jane. "I
know it well. Kind of polite and make-believe. It'
wouldn't deceive a baby. He said in a most unconvincing
voice: 'Oh--er--of course.' The terrible
woman went on: 'I was a great friend of your wife's,
you know'!"
"They usually say that, too," said A!istair Blunt in
a voice of even deeper gloom.
He smiled rather ruefully.
"It always ends the same way! A subscription to
something or other. I got off this time with five
pounds to a zenana mission or something. Cheap!"
ONE, TWO, CKL MY SHOE
93
"Had she really kno YOr wie?"
"Well, her being itrest%d ira zenana missions
made me think that, ifs0, it
would have been in In-
dia. We were there abo ten ,ear. ago. But of course
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she couldn't have bee a gr,.eat friend or I'd have
known about it. ProbtlY net her once at a recep
tion.''
Jane Olivera said:
"I don't believe she' ever met Aunt Rebecca at
all. I think it was just aexcuMe to
nt
.- to you."
Alistair Blunt said tolera 1,v.
"Well, that's quite p0ssible.,
Jane said: "I mean, I thin it's queer the way she
tried to scrape an acquatane with yOU, Uncle."
Alistair Blunt said wit the
· same tolerance:
"She just wanted a sjbscrultion.,,
Poirot said:
"She did not try to follow it up in any way?"
Blunt shook his head.
"I never thought of er algaln I'd even
her name till Jane spotted !t ir th laaper." forgotten
Jane said a little uncoawnc
·nl0Y:
"Well, I thought M. loro ought to be told!"
Poirot said politely:
"Thank you, Mademisell%.,,
He added:
"I must not keep yo, Mr, Blut. You are a busy
man."
Jane said quickly:
I'll come down with you. ,
Under his moustacheS, Hrcule Poirot smiled to
himself.
On the ground floor, Ja paused abruptly. She
said:
"Come in here."
94
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Agatha Chr/st/e
They went into a small room off the hall.
She turned to face him.
"What did you mean on the telephone when you
said that you had. been expecting me to call you?" Poirot smiled. He spread out his hands.
"Just that, Mademoiselle. I was expecting a call from you--and the call came."
"You mean that you knew I'd ring up about this
Sainsbury Scale woman."
Poirot shookhis head,
"That was only the pretext. You could have found
something else if necessary."
Jane said:
"Why the hell should I call you up?"
"Why should you deliver this tidbit of information about Miss Salnsbury Seale to me instead of giving-it
to Scotland Yard? That would have been the natural
thing to do."
"All right, Mr. Know All, how much exactly do you know?"
"I know that you are interested in me since you heard that' I paid a visit to the Holborn Palace Hotel
the other day."
She went so white that it startled him. He had not believed that that deep tan could change to such a
greenish hue.
He went on, quietly and steadily:
"You got me to come here to-day because you wanted to pump me--that is the expression, is it
not?--yes, to pump me on the subject of Mr.
Howard Ralkes."
Jane Olivera said, "Who's he, anyway?" It wasnot a very successful parry.
Poirot said:
"You do not need to pump me, Mademoiselle. I
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
95
will tell you what I know--or rather what I guessed. That first day that we came here, Inspector Japp and
I, you were startled to see us--alarmed. You thought
something had happened to your uncle. Why?"
"Well, he's the kind of man things might happen
to. He had a bomb by post one day--after the Herjosiovakian
Loan. And he gets lots of threatening
letters."
Poirot went on:
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"Chief Inspector Japp told you that a certain den-fist,
Mr. Morley, had been shot. You may recollect
your answer. You said, 'But that's absurd. '"
Jane bit her lip. She said:
"Did 1.9 That was rather absurd of me, wasn't it?"
"It was a curious remark, Mademoiselle. It revealed
that you knew of the existence of Mr. Morley,
that you had rather expected something to happen--not
to happen to him--but possibly to happen in his
house."
"You do like telling yourself stories, don't you?"
Poirot paid no attention.
"You had expected--or rather you had feared--that
something might happen at Mr. Morley's house.
You had feared that that something would have happened
to your uncle. But if so, you must know
something that we did not know. I reflected on the
people who had been in Mr. Morley's house that day,
and I seized at once on the one person who might
possibly have a connection with you--which was
that young American, Mr. Howard Raikes."
"It's just like a serial, isn't it? What's the next
thrilling instalment?
"I want to see Mr. Howard Raikes. He is a dangerous
and attractive young man--"
Poirot paused expressively.
96
Agatha Christie
Jane said meditatively:
"He is, isn't he?" She smiled. "All right! You
win! I was scared stiff."
She leaned forward.
"I'm going to tell you things, M. Poirot. You're
not the kind one can just string along. I'd rather tell
you than have you snooping around finding out. I
love that man, Howard Raikes. I'm just crazy about
him. My mother brought me over here just to get me
away from him. Partly that and partly because she
hopes Uncle Alistair might get fond enough of me to
leave me his money when he dies."
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She went on:
"Mother is his niece by marriage. Her mother was
Rebecca Arnholt's sister. He's my great-unclein-law.
Only he hasn't got any near relatives of his own,
so mother doesn't see why we shouldn't be his residuary
legatees. She cadges off him pretty freely, too.
"You see, I'm being frank with you, M. Poirot.
That's the kind of people we are. Actually we've got
plenty of money ourselves--an indecent amount according
to Howard's ideas--but we're not in Uncle
A!istair's class."
She paused. She struck with one hand fiercely on
the arm of her chair.
"How can I make you understand? Everything
I've been brought up to believe in, Howard abominates
and wants to do away with. And sometimes,
you know, I feel like he does. I'm fond of Uncle Ali-stair,
but he gets on my nerves sometimes. He's so stodgy--so British--so cautious and conservative. I
feel sometimes that he and his kind ought to be swept
away, that they are blocking progress--that without
them we'd get things done!"
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
"You are a convert to Mr. Raikes's ideas?"
"I am--and I'm not. Howard is--is wilder tha most of his crowd. There are people, you know, wh¢
--who agree with Howard up to a point. They would
be willing to--to try things--if Uncle Alistair and hk crowd would agree. But they never will! They just si
back and shake their heads and say 'We could neve
risk that.' And 'It wouldn't be sound economically.
And 'We've got to consider our responsibility.' An,
'Look at history.' But I think that one mustn't 1oo]
at history. That's looking back. One must look fo
ward all the time."
Poirot said gently:
"It is an attractive vision."
Jane looked at him scornfully.
"You say that, too!"
"Perhaps because I am old. Their old men hay
dreams--only dreams, you see."
He paused and then asked in a matter-offac
voice:
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"Why did Mr. Howard Raikes make that appoin
ment in Queen Charlotte Street?"
"Because I wanted him to meet Uncle Alistair an
I couldn't see otherwise how to manage it. He'd bee
so bitter about Uncle Alistair--so full of--of--wel
of hate really, that I felt if he could only see him--s
what a nice, kindly, unassuming person he is--that-.that
he would feel differently... I couldn't arrange
meeting here because of mother--she would hal
spoiled everything."
Poirot said:
"But after having made that arrangement, y
were--afraid."
Her eyes grew wide and dark. She said:
98
Agatha Christie
"Yes. Because--because--sometimes Howard gets
carried away. He--he--"
Hercule Poirot said:
"He wants to take a short cut. To exterminate--" Jane Olivera cried, "Don't!"
4
Seven, Eight,
Lay Them Straight
Time went on. It was over a month since Mr. Morley's death and there was still no news of Miss Sains-
bury
Seale.
Japp became increasingly wrathful on the subject.
"Dash it all, Poirot, the woman's got to be somewhere."
"Indubitably, mon cher."
"Either she's dead or alive. If she's dead, where's her body? Say, for instance, she committed suicide-''
"Another suicide?"
"Don't let's get back to that. You still say Morley
was murdered--/say it was suicide." "You haven't traced the pistol?"
"No, it's a foreign make."
"That is suggestive, is it notT"
"Not in the way you mean. Morley had been
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100 Agatha Christie
abroad. He went on cruises, he and his sister. Everybody in the British Isles goes on cruises. He may
have
picked it up abroad. Lots of people like a gun when
they're abroad. They like to feel life's dangerous." He paused and said:
"Don't sidetrack me. I was saying that/f--only if, mi.nd you--that blasted woman committed suicide, if
she'd drowned herself, for instance, the body would
have come ashore by now. If she was murdered, the
same thing."
"Not if a weight was attached to her body and it was put into the Thames."
"From a cellar in Limehouse, I suppose! You're talking like a thriller by a lady novelist."
"I know--I know. I blush when I say these things!"
"And she was done to death by an International
gang of crooks, I suppose?"
Poirot sighed. He said:
"I have been told lately that there really are such things."
"Who told you so?"
"Mr. Reginald Barnes of Castlegardens Road, Ealing."
"Well, he might know," said Japp dubiously. "He
dealt with aliens when he was at the Home Office." "And you do not agree?"
"It isn't my branch--oh, yes, there are such things --but they're rather futile as a rule."
There was a momentary silence as Poirot twirled
his moustache.
Japp said:
"We've got one or two additional bits of information. She came home from India on the same boat as
Amberiotis. But she was second class and he was
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101
first, so I don't suppose there's anything in that, although one of the waiters at the Savoy thinks she
lunched
there with him about a week or so before he
died."
"So there may have been a connection between
them?"
"There may--but I can't feel it's likely. I can't see
a missionary lady being mixed up in any funny business.''
"Was Amberiotis mixed up in any 'funny business'
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as you term it?"
"Yes, he was. He was in close touch with some of
our Central European friends. Espionage racket."
"You arc sure of that?"
"Yes. Oh, he wasn't doing any of the dirty work
himself. We wouldn't have been able to touch him.
Organizing and receiving reports--that was his lay."
Japp paused and then went on:
"But that doesn't help us with the Sainsbury Seale.
She wouldn't have been in on that racket."
"She had lived in India, remember. There was a lot
of unrest there last year."
"Amberiotis and the excellent Miss $ainsbury
Seale--I can't feel they were likely teammates."
"Did you know that Miss Sainsbury Scale was a
close friend of the late Mrs. Alistair Blunt?"
"Who says so? I don't believe it. Not in the same
class."
"She said so."
"Who'd she say that to?"
"Mr. Alistair Blunt."
"Oh! That sort of thing. He must be used to that lay . Do you mean that Amberiotis was using her that
way? It wouldn't work. Blunt would get rid of her
with a subscription. He wouldn't ask her down for a
102
Aatha Christie
week-end or anything of that kind. He's not so unsophisticated
as that."
This was so palpably true that Poirot could onl
agree. After a minute or two, Japp went on with his
summing up of the Sainsbury Seale situation.
"I suppose her body might have been lowered into
a tank of acid by a mad scientist--:' that's another.
solution they're very fond of in books! But take my
word for it, these things are all my eye and Betty
Martin. If the woman is dead, her body has just been
quietly buried somewhere."
"But where?"
"Exactly. She disappeared in London. Nobody's
got a garden there--not a proper one. A lonely
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chicken farm, that's what we want!"
A garden? Poirot's mind flashed suddenly to that
neat prim garden at Ealing with its formal beds. How
fantastic if a dead woman should be buried there! He told himself not to be absurd.
"And if she isn't dead," went on Japp, "where is
she? Over a month now, description published in the
Press, circulated all over England--"
"And nobody has seen her?"
"Oh, yes, practically everybody has seen her!
You've no idea how many middle-aged, faded looking
women wearing olive green cardigan suits there
are. She's been seen on Yorkshire moors, and in
Liverpool hotels, in guest houses in Devon and on the
beach at Ramsgate! My men have spent their time patiently
investigating all these reports--and one and
all they've led nowhere, except to getting us in wrong
with a number of perfectly respectable middle-aged
ladies."
Poirot clicked his tongue sympathetically.
"And yet," went on Japp, "she's a real person all
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
103
right. I mean sometimes you come across a dummy,
so to speak--someone who just comes to a place and
poses as a Miss Spinks--when all the time there/sn't a Miss Spinks. But this woman's genuine--she's got
a past, a background! We know all about her from
her childhood upwards! She's led a perfectly normal
reasonable life--and suddenly, hey, presto!-vanish I "
"There must be a reason," said Poirot.
"She didn't shoot Morley, if that's what you
mean. Amberiotis saw him alive after she left--and
we've checked up on her movements after she left
Queen Charlotte Street that morning."
Poirot said impatiently:
"I am not suggesting for a moment that she shot
Morley. Of course she did not. But all the same--"
Japp said:
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"If you are right about Morley, then it's far*more
likely that he told her something which, although she
doesn't suspect it, gives a clue to his murderer. In
that case, she might have been deliberately put out of
the way.**
Poirot said:
"All this involves an organization, some big con*
cern quite out of proportion to the death of a quiet
dentist in Queen Charlotte Street."
"Don't you believe everything Reginald' Barnes
tells you.* He's a funny old bird--got spies and communists
on the brain."
Japp got up and Poirot said:
"Let me know if you have news."
When Japp had gone out, Poirot sat frowning
down at the table in front of him.
He had definitely the feeling of waiting for something.
What was it?
10
Agatha Christie
He remembered how he had sat before, jotting
down various unrelated facts and a series of names.
A bird had flown past the window with a twig in its
mouth.
He too, had been collecting twigs. Five, six, pick
up sticks ....
He had the sticks--quite a number of them now.
They were all there, neatly pigeonholed in his orderly
mind--but he had not as yet attempted to set them in
order. That was the next step--lay them straight.
What was holding him up? He knew the answer.
He was waiting for something.
Something inevitable, foreordained, the next link
in the chain. When it came--then--then he could go
II
It was late evening a week later when the summons
came.
Japp's voice was brusque over the telephone.
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"That you, Poirot? We've found her. You'd better
come round. King Leopold Mansions. Battersea
Park. Number 45."
A quarter of an hour later a taxi deposited Poirot
outside King Leopold Mansions.
It was a big block of mansion flats looking out
over Battersea Park. Number 45 was on the second
floor. Japp himself opened the door.
His face was set in grim lines.
"Come in," he said. "It's not particularly pleasant,
but I expect you'll want to see for yourself."
Poirot said--but it was hardly a question:
"Dead?"
ONE. TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
105
"What you might describe as very dead!"
Poirot cocked his head at a familiar sound coming from a door on his right.
"That's the porter," said Japp. "Being sick in the scullery sink! I had to get him up here to see if he
could identify her."
He led the way down the passage and Poirot followed him. His nose wrinkled.
"Not nice," said Japp. "But what can you expect? She's been dead well over a month."
The room they went into was a small lumber and box room. In the middle of it was a big metal chest of
the kind used for storing furs. The lid was open. Poirot stepped forward and looked inside.
He saw the foot first, with the shabby shoe on it and the ornate buckle. His first sight of Miss Sains-bury
Seale had been, he remembered, a shoe buckle.
His gaze traveled up, over the green wool coat and skirt till it reached the head.
He made an inarticulate noise.
"I know," said Japp. "It's pretty horrible."
The face had been battered out of all recognizable, shape. Add to that the natural processes of
decomposition,
and it was no wonder that both men looked
a shade pea green as they turned away.
"Oh, well," said Japp. "It's all in the day's work tour day's work. No doubt about it, ours is a lousy
job sometimes. There's a spot of brandy in the other
room. You'd better have some."
The living room was smartly furnished in an up to date style--a good deal of chromium and some large,
square looking easy chairs upholstered in a pale fawn
geometric fabric.
Poirot found the decanter and helped himself to some brandy. As he finished drinking, he said:
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106 Agatha Christie
"It was not pretty, that! Now tell me, my friend,
all about it."
.lapp said:
"This flat belongs to a Mrs. Albert Chapman. Mrs. Chapman is, I gather, a well-upholstered smart
blonde of forty-odd. Pays her bills, fond of an occasional
game of bridge with her neighbors but keeps to
herself more or less. No children. Mr. Chapman is a
commercial traveler.
"Sainsbury Seale came here on the evening of our
interview with her. About 7:15. So she probably
came straight here from the Glengowrie Court. She'd
been here once before, so the porter says. You see, all
perfectly clear and aboveboardmnice friendly call.
The porter took Miss Sainsbury Seale up in the
elevator to this flat. The last he saw of her she was
standing on the mat pressing the bell."
Poirot commented:
"He has taken his time to remember this!"
"He's had gastric trouble, it seems, been away in
hospital while another man took on temporarily for
him. It wasn't until about a week ago that he happened
to notice in an old paper the description of a
'wanted woman' and he said to his wife, 'Sounds
quite like that old cup of tea who came to see Mrs.
Chapman on the second floor. She had on a green
wool dress and buckles on her shoes.' And after
about another hour he registered againm'Believe she
had a name, too, something like that. Blimey, it
vas--Miss Something or other Seale.'
"After that," continued Japp, "it took him about
four days to overcome his natural distrust of getting
mixed up with the police and come along with his information.
"We didn't really think it would lead to anything.
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You've no idea of how many of these false alarms we've had. However, I sent Sergeant Beddoes along
--he's a bright young fellow. A bit too much of this high class education but he can't help that. It's
fashionable
now.
"Well, Beddoes got a hunch at once that we were on to something at last. For one thing, this Mrs.
Chapman hadn't been seen about for over a month.
She'd gone away without leaving any address. That
was a bit odd. In fact, everything he could learn
about Mr. and Mrs. Chapman seemed odd.
"He found out the porter hadn't seen Miss Sainso bury Seale leave again. That in itself wasn't unusual.
She might easily have come down the stairs and gone
out without his seeing her. But then the porter told
him that Mrs. Chapman had gone away rather suddenly.
There was just a big printed notice outside the
door the next morning: NO MILK TELl:, NELLIE I AM
· CALLED AWAY.
'"Nellie was the daily maid who did for her. Mrs. Chapman had gone away suddenly once or twice
before, so the girl didn't think it odd, but what was
odd was the fact that she hadn't rung for the porter to take her luggage down or get her a taxi.
"Anyway, Beddoes decided to get into the flat. We got a search warrant and a pass key from the
manager.
Found nothing of interest except in the bathroom.
There had been some hasty clearing up done
there.' There was a trace of blood on the linoleum--in
the corners where it had been missed when the floor
was washed over. After that, it was just a question of
finding the body. Mrs. Chapman couldn't have left
with any luggage with her or the porter would have
known. Therefore the body must still be in the flat.
We soon spotted that fur chest--airtight, you know
108 Agatha Christie
--just the place. Keys were in the dressing table
drawer.
"We opened it up--and there was the missing
lady! Mistletoe Bough up to date."
Poirot asked:
"What about Mrs. Chapman?"
"What indeed? 'Who is Sylvia' (her name's Sylvia,
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by the way), 'what is she?' One thing is certain.
Sylvia, or Sylvia's friends, murdered the lady and put
her in the box.''
Poirot nodded.
He asked:
"But why was her face battered in? It is not nice,
that."
I'll say it isn't nice! As to vhy--well, one can
only guess. Sheer vindictiveness, perhaps. Or it may
have been with the idea of concealing the woman's
identity."
Poirot frowned. He said, "But it did not conceal
her identity.',
"No, because not only had we got a pretty good
description of what Mabelle Sainsbury Seale was
wearing when she disappeared, but her handbag had
been stuffed into the fur box, too, and inside the
handbag there was actually an old letter addressed to
her at her hotel in Russell Square."
Poirot sat up. He said:
"But that--that does not make the common
sense!"
"It certainly doesn't. I suppose it was a slip."
"Yes--perhapsta slip. But--"
He got up.
"You have been over the flat?"
"Pretty well. There's nothing illuminating."
"I should like to see Mrs. Chapman's bedroom."
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
l0c)
' 'Come along then."
The bedroom showed no signs of a hasty departure. It was neat and tidy. The bed had not been slept
in, but was turned down ready for the night. There
was a thick coating of dust everywhere.
Japp said:
"No fingerprints, so far as we can see. There are some on the kitchen things, but I expect they'll turn
out to be the maid's."
"That means that the whole place was dusted very
carefully after the murder?"
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"Yes."
Poirot's eyes swept slowly round the room. Like the sitting room it was furnished in the modern style
--and furnished, so he thought, by someone with a
moderate income. The articles in it were expensive
but not ultraexpensive. They were showy but not first
class. The color scheme was rose pink. He looked
into the built-in wardrobe and handled 'the clothes
--smart clothes but again not of first class quality.
His eyes fell to the shoes--they were largely of the
sandal variety popular at the moment; some had exaggerated
cork soles. He balanced one in his hand,
registered the fact that Mrs. Chapman had taken a
size five in shoes and put it down again. In another
cupboard he found a pile of furs, shoved in in a heap. Japp said:
"Came out of the fur chest."
Poirot nodded.
He was handling a grey squirrel coat. He remarked
appreciatively: "First class skins."
He went on into the bathroom.
There was a lavish display of cosmetics. Poirot looked at them with interest. Powder, rouge, vanishing
cream, skin food, two bottles of hair application.
110 Agatha Christie
Japp said:
"Not one of our natural platinum blondes, I gather."
Poirot murmured:
"At forty, mon ami, the hair of most women has begun to go grey but Mrs. Chapman was not one to
yield to nature."
"She's probably gone henna red by now for a change."
"I wonder?"
Japp said: "There's something worrying you, Poirot. What is it?"
Poirot said: "But yes, I am worried. I am very seriously worried. There is here, you see, for me an
insoluble problem."
Resolutely he went once more into the box room...
He took hold of the shoe on the dead woman's foot. It resisted and came off with difficulty.
He examined the buckle. It had been clumsily sewn on by hand.
Hercule Poirot sighed.
He said: "It is that I am dreaming!"
Japp said curiously:
"What are you trying to dommake the thing more difficult?"
' ' Exactly that."
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Japp said: "One patent leather shoe, complete with buckle. What's wrong with that?"
Hercule Poirot said: "Nothing--absolutely nothing. But all the same--I do not understand."
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111
III
Mrs. Merton of 82 King Leopold Mansions had been designated by the porter as Mrs. Chapman's
closest friend in the Mansions.
It was, therefore, to 82 that Japp and Poirot betook
themselves next.
Mrs. Merton was a loquacious lady, with snapping
black eyes, and an elaborate coiffure.
It needed no pressure to make her talk. She was
only too ready to rise to a dramatic situation.
"Sylvia Chapmanmwell, of course, I don't know
her really we!l--not intimately, so to speak. We had a
few bridge evenings occasionally and we went to the
pictures together, and, of course, shopping sometimes.
But, oh, do tell me--she isn't dead, is she?"
Japp reassured her.
"Well, I'm sure I'm thankful to hear it! But the
postman just now was all agog about a body having
been found in one of the flats--but then one really
can't believe half one hears, can one? I never do."
Japp asked a further question.
"No, I haven't heard anything .of Mrs. Chapman
--not since she went away. She musthave gone away
rather suddenly, because we had spoken about going
to see the new Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire the
following week, and she said nothing about going
away then."
Mrs. Merton had never heard a Miss Sainsbury
Seale mentioned. Mrs. Chapman had never spoken
of anyone of that name.
"And yet, you know, the name/s familiar to me,
distinctly familiar. I seem to have seen it somewhere
quite lately."
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Agatha Christie
Japp said drily:
"It's been in all the papers for some weeks--" "Of course--some missing person, wasn't it? And
you thought Mrs. Chapman might have known her?
No, I'm sure I've never heard Sylvia mention that name."
"Can you tell me anything about Mr. Chapman,
Mrs. Merton?"
A rather curious expression came over Mrs. Mer-ton's
face. She said:
"He was a commercial traveler, I believe, so Mrs.
Chapman told me. He traveled abroad for his firm--
armaments, I believe. He went all over Europe."
"Did you ever meet him?"
"No, never. He was at home so seldom, and when
he was at home, he and Mrs. Chapman didn't want
to bother with outsiders. Very naturally."
"Do you know if Mrs. Chapman had any near
relations or friends?"
"I don't know about friends. I don't think she had
any near relations. She never spoke of any."
"Was she ever in India?"
"Not that I know of."
Mrs. Merton paused, and then broke out:
"But please tell me--why are you asking all these
questions? I quite understand that you come from
Scotland Yard and all that, but there must be some
special reason?"
"Well, Mrs. Merton, you are bound to know some
time. As a matter of fact, a dead body has been
found in Mrs. Chapman's flat."
"Oh--!" Mrs. Merton looked for a moment like the dog whose eyes were as big as saucers.
"A dead body! It wasn't Mr. Chapman, was it? Or
perhaps some foreigner?"
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113
Japp said:
"It wasn't a man at all--it was a woman."
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"A woman?" Mrs. Merton seemed even more surprised.
Poirot said gently:
"Why should you think it was a man?"
"Oh, I don't know. It seemed more likely somehow."
"But why? Was it because Mrs. Chapman was in the habit of receiving gentlemen visitors?"
"Oh, no--oh, no, indeed." Mrs. Merton was indignant. "I never meant anything of that kind. Sylvia
Chapman wasn't in the least that kind of a woman
--not at all! It was just that, with Mr. Chapman--I
mean--"
She came to a stop.
Poirot said:
"I think, Madame, that you know a little more than you ha. ye told us."
Mrs. Morton said uncertainly:
"I don't know, I'm sure--what I ought to do! I mean, I don't exactly want to betray a confidence
and of course I never have repeated what Sylvia told
me--except just to one or two intimates whom I
knew were really safe--"
Mrs. Morton paused to draw breath..lapp said: "What did Mrs. Chapman tell you?"
Mrs. Morton leaned forward and lowered her voice:
"It just--slipped out, as it were, one day. When we were seeing a film--about the Secret Service and
Mrs. Chapman said you could see that whoever had
written it didn't know much.about their subject, and
then it came out--only she swore me to secrecy. Mr.
Chapman was in the Secret Service, I mean. That was
114 Agatha Christie
the real reason he had to go abroad so much. The armament firm was only a blind. And it was terribly
worrying for Mrs. Chapman because she couldn't
write to him or get letters from him while he was
away. And of course it was terribly dangerous!"
IV
As they went down the stairs again to Number 42, Japp ejaculated with feeling:
"Shades of Phillips Oppenheim, Valentine Wi!-!iams and William le Quex! I think I'm going mad!"
mad!"
That smart young man, Sergeant Beddoes, was awaiting them.
He said respectfully:
"Haven't been able to get anything helpful from the maid, sir. Mrs. Chapman changed maids pretty
often, it seems. This one had only worked for her a
month or two. She says Mrs. Chapman was a nice
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lady, fond of the radio and pleasant spoken. Girl was
of opinion the husband was a gay deceiver but that Mrs. Chapman didn't suspect it. She got letters from
abroad sometimes, some from Germany, two from
America, one from Italy and one from Russia. The
girl's young man collects stamps, and Mrs. Chapman
used to give them to her off the letters."
"Anything among Mrs. Chapman's papers?" "Absolutely nothing, sir. She didn't keep much. A
few bills and receipted accounts--all local. Some old
theatre programmes, one or two cookery recipes cut
out of the papers, and a pamphlet about zenana missions."
"And we can guess who brought that here. She
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115
doesn't sound like a murderess, does she? And yet that's what it seems to be. She's bound to be an
accomplice
anyway. No strange men seen about that
evening?"
"The porter doesn't remember any--but then I
don't suppose he would by now, and anyway it's a
big block of flats--people always going in and out.
He can only fix the date of Miss Sainsbury Seale's
visit because he was taken off to the hospital the next
day and was actually feeling rather bad that evening.''
"Anybody in the other flats hear anything out of
the way?"
The younger man shook his head.
"I've inquired at the flat above this and the one
below. Nobody can remember hearing anything
unusual. Both of them had their radios on, I gather."
The divisional surgeon came out of the bathroom
where he had been washing his hands.
"Most unsavory corpse," he said cheerfully.
"Send her along when you're ready and VI! get down
to brass tacks."
"No idea of the cause of death, doctor?"
"Impossible to say until I've done the autopsy.
Those face injuries were definitely inflicted after
death, I should say. But I shall know better when I've
got her at the mortuary. Middle-aged woman, quite
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healthy--grey hair at the roots but tinted blonde.
There may be distinguishing marks on the body--if
there aren't, it may be a job to identify her--oh, you
know who she is? That's splendid. What? Missing
woman there's been all the fuss about? Well, you
know, I never read the papers. Just do the crosswords."
Japp said bitterly:
116
ata Criste
"And that's publicity for you!" as the doctor went
out.
Poirot was hovering over the desk. He picked up a
small brown address book.
The indefatigable Beddoes said:
"Nothing of special interest there--mostly hairdressers,
dressmakers, etc. I've noted down any private
names and addresses."
Poirot opened the book at the letter D.
He read Dr. Davis, 17 Prince Albert Road; Drake
and Pomponetti, Fishmongers. And below it: Dentist, Mr. Morley, 58 Queen Charlotte Street.
There was a green light in Poirot's eyes. He said:
"There will be no difficulty, I imagine, in positively
identifying the body."
Japp looked at him curiously. He said: "Surely--you don't imagine--?"
Poirot said with vehemence:
"I want to be sure."
V
Miss Morley had moved to the country. She was
living in a small country cottage near Hertford.
The grenadier greeted Poirot amicably. Since her
brother's death her face had perhaps grown slightly
grimmer, her carriage more upright, her general attitude
towards life more unyielding. She resented bitterly
the slur cast upon her brother's professional
name by the findings of the inquest.
Poirot, she had reason to believe, shared her view
that the verdict of the coroner's court was untrue.
Hence the grenadier unbent a little.
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She answered his questions readily enough and with competence. All Mr. Morley's professional
papers had been carefully filed by Miss Nevill and
had been handed over by her to Mr. Morley's successor.
Some of the patients had transferred themselves
to Mr. Rei!ly, others had accepted the new partner,
others again had gone to other dentists elsewhere.
Miss Morley, after she had given what information she could, said:
"So you have found that woman who was Henry's patient--Miss Sainsbury Seale--and she was
murdered, too."
The "too" was a little defiant. She stressed the word.
Poirot said:
"Your brother never mentioned Miss Sainsbury Seale particularly to you?"
"No, I don't remember his doing so. He would tell me if he had had a particularly trying patient, or if
one of his patients had said something amusing he
would pass it on to me, but we didn't usually talk
much about his work. He was glad to forget it when
the day was over. He was very tired sometimes."
"Do you remember hearing of a Mrs. Chapman among your brother's patients?"
"Chapman? No, I don't think so. Miss Nevill is really the person to help you over all this."
"I am anxious to get in touch with her. Where is she now?"
"She has taken a post with a dentist in Ramsgate, I believe."
"She has not married that young man Frank Carter yet?"
"No. I rather hope that will never come off. I don't like that young man, M. Poirot. I really don't.
118 Agatha Christie
There is something wrong about him.- I still feel that
he hasn't really any proper moral sense."
Poirot said:
"Do you think it is possible that he could have shot your brother?"
Miss Morley said slowly:
"I do feel perhaps that he would be capable of it --he has a very uncontrollable temper. But I don't
really see that he had any motive--nor opportunity
for that matter. You see, it wasn't as though Henry
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had succeeded in persuading Gladys to give him up.
She was sticking to him in the most faithful way." "Could he have been bribed do you think?"
"Bribed? To kill my brother? What an extraordinary idea!"
A nice looking dark-haired girl brought in the tea at this moment. As she closed the door behind her
again, Poirot said:
"That girl was with you in London, was she not?" "Agnes? Yes, she was house-parlormaid. I let the
cook go--she didn't want to come to the country
anyway--and Agnes does everything for me. She is
turning into quite a nice little cook."
Poirot nodded.
He knew very accurately the domestic arrangements of 58 Queen Charlotte Street.They had been
thoroughly gone into at the time of the tragedy. Mr.
Morley and his sister had occupied the two top floors
of the house as a maisonette. The basement had been
shut up altogether, except for a narrow passage leading
from the area to the back yard where a wire cage
ran up to the top floor with the tradesmen's deliveries
and where a speaking tube was installed. Therefore
the only entrance to the house was by the front door
which it was Alfred's business to answer. This had
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
119
enabled the police to be sure that no outsider could have entered the house on that particular morning.
Both cook and house-parlormaid had been with the Motleys for some years and bore good characters.
So, although it was theoretically possible that
one or other of them might have crept down to the
second floor and shot her master, the possibility had
never been taken seriously into account. Neither of
the two had appeared unduly flustered or upset at
being questioned, and there certainly seemed no possible
reason for connecting either of them with his
death.
Nevertheless, as Agnes handed Poirot his hat and stick on leaving, she asked him with an unusually
nervous abruptness:
"Does--does anyone know anything more about the master's death, sir?"
Poirot turned to look at her. He said:
"Nothing fresh has come to light."
"They're still quite sure as he did shoot himself
because he'd made a mistake with that drug?" "Yes. Why do you ask?"
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Agnes pleated her apron. Her face was averted. She said rather indistinctly:
"Themthe mistress doesn't think so."
"And you agree with her, perhaps?"
"Me? Oh, I don't know nothing, sir. I only--I only wanted to be sure."
Hercule Poirot said in his most gentle voice:
"It would be a relief to you to feel beyond any possible doubt that it was suicide?"
"Oh, yes, sir," Agnes agreed quickly, "it would indeed."
"For a special reason, perhaps?"
Her startled eyes met his. She shrank back a little.
120 Agatha Christie
"I--I don't know anything about it, sir. I only just
asked."
"But why did she ask?" liercule Poirot demanded
of himself as he walked down the path to the gate.
tie felt sure that there was an answer to that question.
But as yet he could not guess what it was.
All the same, he felt a step nearer.
VI
When Poirot returned to his flat he was surprised
to find an unexpected visitor awaiting him.
A bald head was visible above the back of a chair,
and the small neat figure of Mr. Barnes rose to his
feet.
With eyes that twinkled as usual, he made a dry
little apology.
He had come, he explained, to return M. Hercule
Poirot's visit.
Poirot professed himself delighted to see Mr.
Barnes. '
George was instructed to bring some coffee unless
his visitor preferred tea or whisky and soda?
"Coffee will be admirable," said Mr. Barnes. "I
imagine that your manservant prepares it well. Most
English servants do not."
Presently, after a few interchanges of polite remarks,
Mr. Barnes gave a little cough and said:
"I will be frank with you, M. Poirot. It was sheer
curiosity that brought me here. You, I imagined,
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would be well posted in all the details of this rather
curious case. I see by the papers that the missing Miss
Sainsbury Seale has been found, that an inquest was
held and adjourned for further'evidence. Cause of
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death was stated to have been an overdose of medinal."
"That is quite correct," said Poirot.
There was a pause and then Poirot said:
"Have you ever heard of Albert Chapman, Mr.
Barnes?"
"Ah, the husband of the lady in whose flat Miss
Sainsbury Seale came to die? Rather an elusive person,
it would seem."
"But hardly nonexistent?"
"Oh, no," said Mr. Barnes. "He exists. Oh, yes,
he existstor did exist. I had heard he was dead. But
you can't trust these rumors."
"Who was he, Mr. Barnes?"
"I don't suppose they'll say at the inquest. Not if
they can help it. They'll trot out the armaments firm
traveler story.' '
"He was in the Secret Service then?"
"Of course he was. But he had no business to tell
his wife so--no business at all. In fact, he ought not
to have continued in the Service after his marriage. It
isn't usually done--not, that is, when you're one of
the really hush-hush people."
"And Albert Chapman was?"
"Yes. Q.X.912. That's what he was known as.
Using a name is most irregular. Oh, I don't mean
that Q.X.912 was specially important--or anything
of that kind. But he was useful because he was an insignificant
sort of chaptthe kind whose face isn't
easily remembered. He was used a lot as a messenger
up and down Europe. You know the sort of thing.
One dignified letter sent via our Ambassador in
Ruritania--one unofficial ditto containing the dirt
per Q.X.912--that is to say: Mr. Albert Chapman."
"Then he knew a lot of useful information?"
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122
Agatha Christie
"Probably didn't know a thing," said Mr. Barnes cheerfully. "His job was just hopping in and out of
trains and boats and aeroplanes and having the right
story to explain why he was going where he was
going!"
"And you heard he was dead?"
"That's what I heard," said Mr. Barnes. "But you can't believe all you hear. I never do."
Looking at Mr. Barnes intently, Poirot asked: "What do you think has happened to his wife?"
"I can't imagine," said Mr. Barnes. He looked,
wide-eyed, at Poirot. "Can you?"
Poirot said:
"I had an idea--" He stopped.
He said slowly: "It is very confusing." Mr. Barnes murmured sympathetically:
"Anything worrying you in particular?"
Hercule Poirot said slowly:
"Yes. The evidence of my own eyes .... "
VII
Japp came into Poirot's sitting room and slammed down his bowler hat with such force that the table
rocked.
He said:
"What the devil made you think of it?"
"My good Japp, I do not know what you are talking about ."
Japp said slowly and forcefully:
"What gave you the idea that that body wasn't Miss Sainsbury Seale's body?"
- Poirot looked worried. He said:
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
123
"It was the face that worried me. Why smash up a
dead
woman's face?"
Japp
said:
"My
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word, I hope old Morley's somewhere where he
can know about it. It's just possible, you know, that
he was put out of the way on purpose--so that he
couldn't give evidence."
"It
would certainly be better if he could have given
evidence himself."
"Leatheran will be all right. Morley's successor. He's a thoroughly capable man with a good manner
and the evidence is unmistakable."
The evening papers came out with a sensation the next day. The dead body found in the Battersea flat,
believed to be that of Miss Sainsbury Seale, was
positively identified as thai of Mrs. Albert Chapman.
Mr. Leatheran, of 58 Queen Charlotte Street, unhesitatingly pronounced it to be Mrs. Chapman on
the evidence of the teeth and jaw, full particulars of
which were recorded in the late Mr. Morley's professional
chart.
Miss Sainsbury Seale's clothes had been found on the body and Miss Sainsbury Seale's handbag with
the body--but where was Miss Sainsbury Seale herself?
Ii,,
5
Nine, Ten,
a Good Fat Hen
As they came away from the inquest .lapp said jubilantly to Poirot:
"A smart piece of work, that. Gave 'em a sensation!''
Poirot nodded.
"You tumbled to it first," said .lapp, "but, you know, I wasn't happy about that body myself. After all,
you don't go smashing a dead person's face and
head about for nothing. It's messy, unpleasant work,
and it was pretty plain there must be some reason for
it. And there's only one reason there could be--to
confuse the identity." He added generously: "But I
shouldn't have tumbled so quickly to the fact that it
actually was the other woman."
Poirot said with a smile:
125
126 Agatha Christie
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"And yet, my friend, the actual descriptions of the women were not unlike as regards fundamentals.
Mrs. Chapman was a smart, good looking woman, well made up and fashionably turned out. Miss
Sainsbury Seale was dowdy and innocent of lipstick
or rouge. But the essentials were the same. Both were
women of forty odd. Both were roughly about the
same height and build. Both had hair turning grey
which they touched up to make it appear golden."
"Yes, of course, when you put it like that. One thing we've got to admit--the fair Mabelle put it over
on both of us, good and proper. I'd have sworn she
'was the genuine article."
"But, my friend, she was the genuine article. We know all about her past life."
"We didn't know she was capable of murder--and that's what it looks like now. Sylvia didn't murder
Mabelle. Mabelle murdered Sylvia."
Hercule Poirot shook his head in a worried fashion. He still found it difficult to reconcile Mabelle
Sainsbury Seale with murder. Yet in his ears he heard
the small, ironic voice of Mr. Barnes:
"Look among the respectable people .... "
Mabelle Sainsbury Seale had been eminently respectable.
Japp said with emphasis:
"I'm going to get to the bottom of this case, Poirot. That woman isn't going to put it over on
me."
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
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II
The following day Japp rang up. His voice held a
curious note.
He said:
"Poirot, do you want to hear a piece of news? It's Na Poo, my !ad. Na Poo!"
"Pardon?--the line is perhaps not very clear. I did not quite catch--"
"It's off, my boy. O.F.F. Call it a day! Sit down
and twiddle our thumbsl!"
There was no mistaking the bitterness now. Poirot
was startled.
"What is off?"
"The whole ruddy blinking thing! The hue and
cry! The publicity! The whole bag of tricks!"
"But I still do not understand."
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"Well, listen. Listen carefully, because I can't
mention names very well. You know our inquiry?
You know we're combing the country for a performing
fish?"
"Yes, yes, perfectly. I comprehend now."
"Well, that's been called off. Hushed up--kept
mum. Now do you understand?"
"Yes, yes. But why?"
"Orders from the ruddy Foreign Office."
"Is not that very extraordinary?"
"Well, it does happen now and again."
"Why should they be so forbearing to Miss--to
the performing fish?"
"They're not. They don't care tuppence about her.
It's the publicitymif she's brought to trial too much
might come out about Mrs. A.C. The corpse. That's
the hush-hush side! I can only suppose that the ruddy
128
Agatha Christie
husband--Mr. A.C.-- Get me?"
"Yes, yes."
"That he's somewhere abroad in a ticklish spot
and they don't want to queer his pitch."
"Tchah!"
"What did you say?"
"I made, mon ami, an exclamation of annoy-ante!"
"Oh! That was it. I thought you'd caught cold.
Annoyance is right! I could use a stronger word. Letting
that dame get away with it makes me see red."
Poirot said very softly:
"She will not get away with it."
"Our hands are tied, I tell you!"
"Yours may be--mine are not!"
"Good old Poirot! Then you are going on with
it?"
"Mais oui--to the death."
"Well, don't let it be your death, old boy! If this
business goes on as it has begun someone will probably
send you a poisoned tarantula by post!"
As he replaced the receiver, Poirot said to himself,
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"Now why did I use that melodramatic phrase--'to
the death'? Vraiment, it is absurd!"
III
The letter came by the evening post. It was typewritten
except for the signature:
DEAR M. POIROT [it ran]:
I should be greatly obliged if you would call
upon me some time tomorrow. I may have a
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commission for you. I suggest twelve-thirty, at my house in Chelsea. If this is inconvenient to
you, perhaps you would telephone and arrange
some other time with my secretary? I apologize
for giving you such short notice.
Yours sincerely,
ALISTAIR BLUNT.
Poirot smoothed out the letter and read it a second time. At that moment the telephone rang.
Hercule Poirot occasionally indulged in the fancy that he knew by the ring of his telephone bell what
kind of message ,was impending.
On this occasion he was at once quite sure that the call was significant. It was not a wrong number--not
one of his friends.
He got up and took down the receiver. He said in
his polite, foreign voice:
"AIiO?"
An impersonal voice said: "What number are you, please?"
"This is Whitehall 7272."
There was a pause, a click, and then a voice spoke.
It was a woman's voice. "M. Poirot?"
"Yes."
"M. Hercule Poirot?"
"Yes."
"M. Poirot, you have either already received--or
will shortly receive--a letter."
"Who is speaking?"
"It is not necessary that you should know."
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"Very well. I have received, Madame, eight letters and three bills by the evening post."
130 Agatha Christie
"Then you know which letter I mean. You will be
wise, M. Poirot, to refuse the commission you have
been offered."
"That, Madame, is a matter I shall decide myself."
The voice said coldly:
"I am warning you, M. Poirot. Your interference
will no longer be tolerated. Keep out of this business.''
"And if I do not keep out of it?"
"Then we shall take steps to see that your inter ference
is no longer to be feared "
"That
is a threat, Madame?
"We are only asking you to be sensible It
is
for
your own good."
"You
are very magnanimous!"
"You
cannot alter the course of events and what has
been arranged. So keep out of what doesn't concern
you! Do you understand?"
"Oh,
yes, I understand. But I consider that Mr. Morley's
death/s my concern."
The
woman's voice said sharply:
"Morley's
death was only an incident. He interfered
with our plans."
"He
was a human being, Madame, and he died before
his time."
"He
was of no importance."
Poirot's
voice was dangerous as he said very quietly:
"There
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you are wrong .... "
"It
was his own fault. He refused to be sensible." "I, too, refuse to be sensible."
"Then you are a fool."
There was a click at the other end as the receiver
was replaced.
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131
Poirot said, "All?" then put down his receiver in turn. He did not trouble to ask the Exchange to trace
the number. He was fairly sure that the call had been
put through from a public telephone box.
What intrigued and puzzled him was the fact that he thought he had heard the voice somewhere before.
He racked his brains, trying to bring the elusive memory
back. Could it be the voice of Miss Sainsbury
Scale?
As he remembered it, Mabelle Sainsbury Scale's voice had been high-pitched and somewhat affected,
with rather over-emphasized diction. This voice was
not at all like that, and yet--perhaps it might be Miss
Sainsbury Scale with her voice disguised. After all,
she had been an actress in her time. She could alter
her voice, probably, easily enough. In actual timbre,
the voice was not unlike what he remembered.
But he was not satisfied with that explanation. No, it was some other person that the voice brought back
to him. It was not a voice he knew well--but he was
still quite sure that he had heard it once, if not twice,
before.
Why, he wondered, bother to ring up and threaten him? Could these people actually believe that threats
would deter him? Apparently they did. It was poor
psychology!
IV
There was some sensational news in the morning papers. The Prime Minister had been shot at when
leaving 10 Downing Street with a friend yesterday
evening. Fortunately the bullet had gone wide. The
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man, an Indian, had been taken into custody.
After reading this, Poirot took a taxi to Scotland Yard where he was shown up to Japp's room. The
latter greeted him heartily.
"Ah, so the news has brought you along. Have any of the papers mentioned who 'the friend' was with
the P.M.?"
"No, who was it?" "Alistair Blunt."
"Really?"
"And," went on Japp, "we've every reason to believe that the bullet was meant for Blunt and not
for the P.M. That is, unless the man was an even
more thundering bad shot than he is already!" "Who did it?"
"Some crazy Hindu student. Half-baked, as usual. But he was put up to it. It wasn't all his own idea."
Japp added: "Quite a sound bit of work getting him. There's usually a small group of people, you
know, watching Number 10. When the shot was
fired, a young American grabbed hold of a little man
with a beard. Held on to him like grim death and
yelled to the police that he'd got the man. Meanwhile
the Indian was quietly hooking it--but one of our
people nabbed him all right."
"Who was the American?" asked Poirot curiously.
"Young fellow by the name of Ralkes. Why--" he stopped short, staring at Poirot. "What's the
matter?"
Poirot said:
"Howard Raikes, staying at the Hoiborn Palace Hotel."
"That's right. Who--why, of course! I thought
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133
the name seemed familiar. He's the patient who ran
away that morning when Morley shot himself "
He paused. He said slowly:
"Rum--how
that old business keeps cropping up. You've
still got your ideas about it, haven't you, Poirot?"
Hercule
Poirot replied gravely:
"Yes.
I still have my ideas ....
V
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At
the Gothic House, Poirot was received by a secretary,
a tall, limp young man with an accomplished
social manner.
He
was pleasantly apologetic.
"I
am so sorry, M. Poirot--and so is Mr. Blunt.
He has been called to Downing Street. The result of
this--ermincident last night. I rang your flat, but unfortunately
you had already left."
The young man went on rapidly:
"Mr. Blunt commissioned me to ask you if it
would be possible for you to spend the week-end with
him at his house in Kent. Exsham, you know. If so,
he would call for you in the car to-morrow evening."
Poirot hesitated.
The young man said persuasively:
"Mr. Blunt is really most anxious to see you."
Hercule Poirot bowed his head.
He said:
"Thank you. I accept."
"Oh, that's splendid. Mr. Blunt will be delighted.
If he calls for you about a quarter to six, will thatt Oh, good morning, Mrs. Oliverat"
134
Agatha Christie
Jane Olivera's mother had just entered. She was very smartly dressed, with a hat clinging to an eyebrow
in the midst of a very soigne coiffure.
"Oh! Mr. Selby, did Mr. Blunt give you any instructions about those garden chairs? I meant to talk
to him about them last night, because I knew we'd be
going down this week-end and--"
Mrs. Olivera took in Poirot and paused.
"Do you know Mrs. O!ivera, M. Poirot?"
"I have already had the pleasure of meeting Madame."
Poirot bowed.
Mrs. Olivera said vaguely:
"Oh? How do you do? Of course, Mr. Selby, I know that Alistair is a very busy man and that these
small domestic matters mayn't seem to him important-''
"It's quite all right, Mrs. Olivera," said the efficient Mr. Selby. "He told me about it and I rang up
Messrs. Deevers about them."
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"Well, now, that's a real load off my mind. Now, Mr. Selby, can you tell me..."
Mrs. Olivera clacked on. She was, thought Poirot, rather like a hen. A big, fat hen! Mrs. Olivera, still
clacking, moved majestically after her bust towards
the door.
".... and if you're quite sure that there will only
be ourselves this week-end--" '
Mr. Selby coughed.
"Er--M. Poirot is also coming down for the weekend."
Mrs. Olivera stopped. She turned round and surveyed Poirot with visible distaste.
"Is that really so?"
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
135
"Mr. Blunt has been kind enough to invite me," said Poirot.
"Well, I wonder--why, if that isn't queer of
Alistair. You'll excuse me, M. Poirot, but Mr. Blunt
particularly told me that he wanted a quiet, family weekend!"
Selby said firmly:
"Mr. Blunt is particularly anxious that M. Poirot
should come."
"Oh, really? He didn't mention it to me."
The door opened. Jane stood there. She said impatiently:
"Mother, aren't you coming? Our lunch appointment
is at i:15!"
"I'm coming, Jane. Don't be impatient."
"Well, get a move on, for goodness' sake-- Hullo,
M. Poirot."
She was suddenly very still--her petulance frozen,
her eyes more wary.
Mrs. O!ivera said in a cold voice:
"M. Poirot is coming down to Exsham for the
weekend."
"Oh--I see."
Jane Olivera stood back to let her mother pass her.
On the point of following her, she whirled back
again.
"M. Poirot!"
Her voice was imperious.
Poirot crossed the room to her.
She said in a low voice:
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"You're coming down to Exsham? Why?"
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. He said:
"It is a kind thought of your uncle's."
Jane said: "But he can't know .... He can't ....
136
Agatha Christie
When did he ask you? Oh, there's no need--"
"Jane!"
Her mother was calling from the hail.
Jane said in a low, urgent tone:
"Stay away. Please don't come."
She went out. Poirot heard the sounds of altercation.
Heard Mrs. Olivera's high, complaining, clucking
voice. "I really will not tolerate your rudeness,
Jane I
shall take steps to see that you do not interfere-''
The
secretary said, "Then at a little before six tomorrow, M.
Poirot?"
Poirot nodded
assent mechanicaily. He was standing like
a man who has seen a ghost. But it was his ears, not
his eyes, that had given him the shock.
Two of
the sentences that had drifted in through the open
door were almost identical with those he had heard
last night through the telephone, and he knew
why the voice had been faintly familiar.
As
he walked out into the sunshine he shook his head
blankly.
Mrs..Olivera?
But
it was impossible! It could not have been Mrs. Olivera who had spoken over the 'phone!
That
empty-headed society woman--selfish, brainless,
grasping, self-centered? What had he called her to
himself just now?
"That
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good fat hen? C'est ridicule!" said Hercule Poirot.
His
ears, he decided, must have deceived him. And yet--
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
137
VI
The Rolls called punctually for Poirot at a little before six.
Alistair Blunt and his secretary were the only occupants. Mrs. O!ivera and Jane had gone down in
another car earlier, it seemed.
The drive was uneventful. Blunt talked a little, mostly of his garden and of a recent horticultural
show.
Poirot congratulated him on his escape from death, at which Blunt demurred. He said:
"Oh, that/Don't think the fellow was shooting at me particularly. Anyway, the poor chap hadn't the
first idea of how to aim! Just one of these half-crazed
students. There's no harm in them really. They just
get worked up and fancy that a pot shot at the P.M.
will alter the course of history. It's pathetic, really."
"There have been other attempts on your life, have there not?"
"Sounds quite melodramatic," said Blunt, with a slight twinkle. "Someone sent me a bomb by post not
long ago. It wasn't a very efficient bomb. You know,
these fellows who want to take on the management of
the world--what sort of an efficient business do they
think they could make of it, when they can't even
devise an effectual bomb?"
He shook his head.
"It's always the same thing--long-haired, woolly idealists--without one practical bit of knowledge in
their heads. I'm not a clever chap--never have been
--but I can just read and write and do arithmetic.
D'you understand what I mean by that?"
"I think so, but explain to me further."
138 Agatha Christie
"Well, if I read something that is written down in
English I can understand what it means--I am not
talking of abstruse stuff, formulae or philosophy--just
plain businesslike English--most people can 'ti If
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I want. to write down something I can write down
what I mean--l've discovered that quite a lot of
people can't do that either! And, as I say, I can do
plain arithmetic. If Jones has eight bananas and
Brown takes ten away from him, how many will
Jones have left? That's the kind of sum people like to
pretend has a simple answer. They won't admit, first,
that Brown can't do it--and second, that there won't
be an answer in plus bananas!"
"They prefer the answer to be a conjuring trick?"
"Exactly. Politicians are just as bad. But I've
always held out for plain common sense. You can't
beat it, you know, in the end."
He added with a slightly self-conscious laugh:
"But I mustn't talk shop. Bad habit. Besides, I like
to leave business matters behind when I get away
from London. I've been looking forward, M. Poirot,
to hearing a few of your adventures. I read a lot of
thrillers and detective stories, you know. Do you
think any of them are true to life?"
The conversation dwelt for the rest of the journey
on the more spectacular cases of Hercule Poirot. Ali-stair
Blunt displayed himself as avid as any schoolboy
for details.
This pleasant atmosphere sustained a chill on arrival
at Exsham where behind her massive bust Mrs.
Oiivera radiated a freezing disapproval. She ignored
Poirot as far as possible, addressing herself exclusively
to her host and to Mr. Selby.
The latter showed Poirot to his room.
The house was a charming one, not very big, and
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
139
furnished with the same quiet good taste that Poirot had noticed in London. Everything was costly but
simple. The vast wealth that owned it was only indicated
by the smoothness with which this apparent
simplicity was produced. The service was admirable
--the cooking English, not Continental--the wines at
dinner stirred Poirot to a passion of appreciation.
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They had a perfect clear soup, a grilled sole, saddle
of lamb with tiny young garden peas and strawberries
and cream.
Poirot was so enjoying these creature comforts that the continued frigid demeanor of Mrs. Olivera
and the brusque rudeness of her daughter, hardly attracted
his attention. Jane, for some reason, was
regarding him with definite hostility. Hazily, towards
the end of dinner, Poirot wondered why!
Looking down the table with mild curiosity, Blunt asked:
"Helen not dining with us tonight?"
Julia Olivera's lips drew themselves in with a taut line. She said:
"Dear Helen has been overtiring herself, I think, in the garden. I suggested it would be far better for
her to go to bed and rest than to bother to dress
herself up and come here. She quite saw my point."
"Oh, I see." Blunt looked vague and a little puzzled. "I thought it made a bit of a change for her
at weekends."
"Helen is such a simple soul. She likes turning in early," said Mrs. Olivera firmly.
When Poirot joined the ladies in the drawing-room, Blunt having remained behind for a few minutes'
conversation with his secretary, he heard Jane
Oiivera say to her mother:
"Uncle Alistair didn't quite like the cool way
140 Agatha Christie
you'd shelved Helen Montressor, mother."
'Nonsense," said Mrs. Olivera robustly. "A!istair
is too good-natured. Poor relations are all very well
--very kind of him to let her have the cottage rent
free, but to think he has to have her up to the house
every weekend for dinner is absurd! She's only a second
cousin or something. I don't think Alistair ought
to be imposed upon!"
"I think she's proud in her way," said Jane. "She
does an awful lot in the garden."
"That shows a proper spirit," said Mrs. Olivera
comfortably. "The Scotch are very independent and
one respects them for it."
She settled herself comfortably on the sofa and,
still not taking any notice of Poirot, added:
"Just bring me the Low Down Review, dear.
There's something about Lois Van Schuyler in it and
that Moroccan guide of hers."
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Alistair Blunt appeared in the doorway. He said:
"Now, M. Poirot, come into my room."
Alistair Blunt's own sanctum was a low, long room
at the back of the house, with windows opening upon
the garden. It was comfortable, with deep armchairs
and settees and just enough pleasant untidiness to
make it livable.
(Needless to say, Hercule Poirot would have preferred
a greater symmetry!)
After offering his guest a cigarette and lighting his
own pipe, Alistair Blunt came to the point quite
simply and directly.
He said:
"There's a good deal that I'm not satisfied about. I'm referring, of course, to this Sainsbury Seale
woman. For reasons of their own--reasons no doubt
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
141
which are perfectly justified--the authorities have
called off the hunt. I don't know exactly who Albert
Chapman is or what he's doing--but whatever it is,
it's something pretty vital and it's the sort of business
that might land him in a tight spot. I don't know the
ins and outs of it, but the P.M. did just mention that
they can't afford any publicity whatever about this
case and that the sooner it fades out of the public's
memory the better.
"That's quite O.K. That's the official view, and
they know what's necessary. So the police have got
their hands tied."
He leaned forward in his chair.
"But I want to know the truth, M. Poirot. And
you're the man to find it out for me. You aren't
hampered by officialdom."
"What do you want me to do, M. Blunt?-"
"I want you to find this woman--Sainsbury
Seale."
"Alive or dead?"
Alistair Blunt's eyebrows rose.
"You think it possible that she is dead?"
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Hercule Poirot was silent for a minute or two, then
he said, speaking slowly and with weight:
"If you want my opinion--but it is only an opinion,
remember--then, yes, I think she is dead..."
"Why do you think so?"
Hercule Poirot smiled slightly.
He said:
"It would not make sense to you if I said it was
because of a pair of unworn stockings in a drawer."
Alistair Blunt stared at him curiously.
"You're an odd man, M. Poirot."-
"I am very odd. That is to say, I am methodical,
142
Agatha Christie
orderly and logical--and I do not like distorting facts
to support a theory--that, I find--/s unusual!"
A!istair Blunt said:
"I've been turning the whole thing over in my
mind--it takes me a little time always to think a thing
out. And the whole business is deuced odd! I mean
--that dentist chap shooting himself, and then this
Chapman woman packed away in her own fur chest
with her face smashed in. It's nasty! It's damned
nasty! I can't help feeling that there's something behind it all."
Poirot nodded.
Blunt said:
"And you know--the more I think of it--I'm
quite sure that woman never knew my wife. It was
just a pretext to speak to me. But why? What good
did it do her? I mean--bar a small subscription--and
even that was made out to the society, not to her
personally. And yet I do feel--that--that it was engineered--just
meeting me on the steps of the house. It
was all so pat. So suspiciously we!l-timed! But'why? That's what I keep asking myself--why?"
"It is indeed the word--why? I too ask myself--and
I cannot see it--no, I cannot see it."
"You've no ideas at all on the subject?"
Poirot waved an exasperated hand.
"My ideas are childish in the extreme. I tell myself,
it was perhaps a ruse to indicate you to someone--to
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point you out. But that again is absurd--you are
quite a well-known man--and anyway how much
more simple to say, 'See, that is he--the man who
entered now by that door.'"
"And anyway," said Blunt, "why should anyone
want to point me out?"
"Mr. Blunt, think back once more on your time
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
143
that morning in the dentist's chair. Did nothing that
Morley said strike an unusual note? Is there nothing
at !1 that you can remember which might help as a
clue?"
Aiistair Blunt frowned in an effort of memory.
Then he shook his head.
"I'm sorry. I can't think of anything."
"You're quite sure he didn't mention this woman
--this Miss Sainsbury Seale?"
"No."
"Or the other woman--Mrs. Chapman?".
"No--no--we didn't speak of people at all. We
mentioned roses, gardens needing rain, holidays--nothing
else."
"And no one came into the room while you were
there?"
"Let me see--no, I don't think so. On other occasions
I seem to remember a young woman being there
--fair-haired girl. But she wasn't there this time. Oh,
another dentist fellow came in, I remember--fellow
with an Irish accent."
"What did he say or do?"
"Just asked Morley some question and went out
again. Morley was a bit short with him, I fancy. He
was only there a minute or so."
"And there is nothing else you can remember?
Nothing at all?"
"No. He was absolutely normal."
Hercule Poirot said thoughtfully:
"I, too, found him absolutely normal."
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There was a long pause. Then Poirot said:
"Do you happen to remember, Monsieur, a young
man who was in the waiting room downstairs with
you that morning?"
Alistair Blunt frowned.
144
Agatha Christie
"Let me see--yes, there was a young man--rather restless he was. I don't remember him particularly,
though. Why?"
"Would you know him again if you saw him?" Blunt shook his head.
"I hardly glanced at him."
"He didn't try to enter into conversation with you at all?"
"No."
Blunt looked with frank curiosity at the other. "What's the point? Who is this young man?"
"His name is Howard Raikes."
Poirot watched keenly for any reaction, but he saw none.
"Ought I to know his name? Have I met him elsewhere?"
"I do not think you have met him. He is a friend of your niece, Miss Olivera's."
"Oh, one of Jane's friends."
"Her mother, I gather, does not approve of the friendship."
Alistair Blunt said absently:
"I don't suppose that will cut any ice with Jane." "So seriously does her mother regard the friendship
that I gather she brought her daughter over from
the States on purpose to get her away from this
young man."
"Oh!" Blunt's face registered comprehension. "It's that fellow, is it?"
"Aha, you become more interested now."
"He's a most undesirable young fellow in every way, I believe. Mixed up in a lot of subversive
activities.''
"I understand from Miss Olivera that he made an
ONE. TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
145
appointment that morning in Queen Charlotte Street, solely in order to get a look at you."
"To try and get me to approve of him?".
"Well--no--I understand the idea was that he
should be induced to approve of you." Alistair Blunt said indignantly:
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"Well, of all the damned cheek I"
Poirot concealed a smile.
"It appears you are everything that he most disapproves
of."
"He's certainly the kind of young man I disapprove
of! Spends his time tub-thumping and talking
hot air, instead of doing a decent job of work!"
Poirot was silent for a minute, then he said:
"Will you forgive me if I ask you an impertinent
and very personal question?"
"Fire ahead."
"In the event of your death, what are your testamentary
dispositions?"
Blunt stared. He said sharply:
"Why do you want to know that?"
"Because--it is just possible"--he shrugged his
shoulders--" that it might be relevant to this case."
"Nonsense!"
"Perhaps. But perhaps not."
Aiistair Blunt said coldly:
"I think you are being unduly melodramatic, M.
Poirot. Nobody has been trying to murder me--or anything like that!"
"A bomb on your breakfast table--a shot in the
street--"
"Oh, those! Any man who deals in the world's
finance in a big way is liable to that kind of attention
from some crazy fanatic!"
146
Agatha Christie
"It might possibly be a case of someone who is not
a fanatic and' not crazy."
Blunt stared.
"What are you driving at?"
"In plain language, I want to know who benefits
by your death."
Blunt grinned.
"Chiefly the St. Edward's Hospital, the Cancer
Hospital, and the Royal Institute for the Blind."
"Ah!"
"In addition, I have left a sum of money to my
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niece by marriage, Mrs. Julia O!ivera, an equivalent
sum, but in trust, to her daughter, Jane Olivera, and
also a substantial provision for my only surviving
relative, a second cousin, Helen Montressor, who
was left very badly off and who occupies a small cottage
on the estate here."
He paused and then said:
"This, M. Poirot, is strictly in confidence."
"Naturally, Monsieur, naturally."
A!istair Blunt added sarcastically:
"I suppose you do not suggest, M. Poirot, that
either Julia or Jane Olivera, or my cousin, Helen
Montressor, are planning to murder me for my
money?"
"I suggest nothing--nothing at all."
Blunt's slight irritation subsided. He said:
"And you'll take on that other commission for
me?"
"The finding of Miss Sainsbury Seale? Yes, I
will."
Alistair Blunt said heartily:
"Good man."
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
VII
147
In leaving the room Poirot almost cannoned into a
tall figure outside the door.
He said:
"I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle." Jane Olivera drew apart a little.
She said:
"Do you know what I think of you, M. Poirot." "Eh bien-- Mademoiselle--"
She did not give him time to finish. The question, indeed, had but a rhetorical value. All that it meant
was that Jane Olivera was about to answer it herself.
"You're a spy, that's what you are! A miserable, low, snooping spy, nosing round and making
trouble!"
"I assure you, Mademoiselle--"
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"I know just what you're after! And I know now just what lies you tell! Why don't you admit it
straight out? Well, I'll tell you this--you won't find
out anything--anything at all! There's nothing to
find out! No one's going to harm'a hair of my precious
uncle's head. He's safe enough. He'll always be
safe. Safe and smug and prosperous--and full of
platitudes! He's just a stodgy John Bull, that's what
he is--without an ounce of imagination or vision."
She paused, then, her agreeable, husky voice deepening, she said venomously:
"I loathe the sight of you--you bloody little bourgeois detective!"
She swept away from him in a whirl of expensive model drapery.
Hercule Poirot remained, his eyes very wide open, his eyebrows raised and his hand thoughtfully
caressing
his moustaches.
148 Agatha Christie
The epithet bourgeois was, he admitted, well applied to him. His outlook on life was essentially
bourgeois,
and always had been, but the employment of it
as an epithet of contempt by the exquisitely turned
out Jane Olivera, gave him, as he expressed it to himself,
furiously to think.
He went, still thinking, into the drawing-room. Mrs. Olivera was playing patience.
She looked up as Poirot entered, surveyed him with the cold look she might have bestowed upo a
black beetle and murmured distantly:
"Red knave on black queen."
Chilled, Poirot retreated. He reflected mournfully: "Alas, it would seem that nobody loves me!"
He strolled out through the window into the garden. It was an enchanting evening with a smell of
nightscented stocks in the air. Poirot sniffed happily
and strolled along a path that ran between two herbaceous
borders.
He turned a corner and two dimly seen figures sprang apart.
It would seem that he had interrupted a pair of lovers,
Poirot hastily turned and retraced his steps.
Even out here, it would seem, his presence was de trop.
He passed Alistair Biunt's window and Alistair Blunt was dictating to Mr. Selby.
There seemed definitely only one place for Hercule Poirot.
He went up to his bedroom.
He pondered for some time on various fantastic aspects of the situation.
Had he or had he not made a mistake in believirg
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149
the voice on the telephone to be that of Mrs. Olivera? Surely the idea was absurd!
He recalled the melodramatic revelations of quiet little Mr. Barnes. He speculated on the mysterious
whereabouts of Mr. Q.X.912, alias Albert Chapman.
He remembered, with a spasm of annoyance, the
anxious look in the eyes of the maidservant, Agnes--
It was always the same way--people would keep things back! Usually quite unimportant things, but
until they were cleared out of the way, impossible to
pursue a straight path.
At the moment the path was anything but straight! And the most unaccountable obstacle in the way of
clear thinking and orderly progress was what he described
to himself as the contradictory and impossible
problem of Miss Sainsbury Seale. For, if the facts
that Hercule Poirot had observed were true facts--then
nothing whatever made sensei
Hercule Poirot said to himself, with astonishment in the thought:
"Is it possible that I am growing old?"
6
Eleven, Twelve, Men Must Delve
After passing a troubled night, Hercule Poirot was up and about early on the next day. The weather was
perfect and he retraced his steps of last night.
The herbaceous borders were in full beauty and though Poirot himself leaned to a more orderly type
of flower arrangement--a neat arrangement of beds
of scarlet geraniums such as are seen at Ostend--he
nevertheless realized that here was the perfection of
the English garden spirit.
He pursued his way through a rose garden, where the neat layout of the beds delighted him--and
through the winding ways of an alpine rock garden,
coming at last to the walled kitchen gardens.
Here he observed a sturdy woman clad in a tweed coat and skirt, black-browed with short cropped
black hair who was talking in a slow, emphatic Scotch
voice to what was evidently the head gardener. The
151
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152 Agatha Christie
head gardener, Poirot observed, did not appear to be enjoying the conversation.
A sarcastic inflection made itself heard in Miss Helen Montressor's voice, and Poirot escaped
nimbly down a side path.
A gardener who had been, Poirot shrewdly suspected, resting on his spade, began digging with fervor.
Poirot approached nearer. The man, a young
fellow, dug with ardor, his back to Poirot, who
paused to observe him.
"Good morning," said Poirot amiably.
A muttered "Morning, sir" was the response, but the man did not stop working.
Poirot was a little surprised. In his experience a gardener, though anxious to appear zealously at
work as you approached, was usually only too willing
to pause and pass the time of day when directly addressed.
It seemed, he thought, a little unnatural. He stood there for some minutes, watching the toiling figure.
Was there, or was there not, something a little familiar
about the turn of those shoulders? Or could it be,
thought Hercule Poirot, that he was getting into a
habit of thinking that both voices and shoulders were
familiar when they were really nothing of the kind?
Was he, as he had feared last night, growing old?
He passed thoughtfully onward out of the walled garden and paused to regard a rising slope of shrubbery
outside.
Presently, like some fantastic moon, a round object rose gently over the top of the kitchen garden
wail. It was the egg-shaped head of Hercule Poirot,
and the eyes of Hercule Poirot regarded with a good
deal of interest the face of the young gardener who
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
153
had now stopped digging and was passing a sleeve across his wet face.
"Very curious and very interesting," murmured
Hercule Poirot as he ,discreetly lowered his head once
more.
He emerged from the shrubbery and brushed .off
some twigs and leaves that were spoiling the neatness
of his apparel..
Yes, indeed, very curious and interesting that
Frank Carter, who had a secretarial job in the country,
should be working as a gardener in the employment
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of Alistair Blunt.
Reflecting on these points, Hercule Poirot heard a
gong in the distance and retraced his steps towards
the house.
On the way there he encountered his host talking to
Miss Montressor who had just emerged from the kitchen
garden by the farther door.
Her voice, with its Scotch burr, rose clear and
distinct:
"It's verra kind of you, A!istairr, but I would
preferr not to accept any invitations this week while
yourr Amerrican relations are with you!"
Blunt said:
"Julia's rather a tactless woman, but she doesn't
meanm,,
Miss Montressor said calmly:
"In my opinion her manner to me is verra insolent,
and I Will not put up with insolence--from Amerrican
women or any others!"
Miss Montressor moved away, Poirot came up to
find Alistair Blunt looking as sheepish as most men
look who are having trouble with their female relations.
154
Agatha Christie
He said ruefully,
··Women really are the devil! Good morning, M. Poirot. Lovely day, isn't it?" They turned towards
the house and Blunt said with a sigh, "I do miss my
wife!"
In the dining room, he remarked to the redoubtable Julia,
'·l'm afraid, Julia, you've rather hurt Helen's feelings.''
Mrs. O!ivera said grimly:
· 'The Scotch are always touchy." Alistair Blunt looked unhappy.
Hercule Poirot said:
"You have a young gardener, I noticed, whom I think you must have taken on recently."
"I daresay," said Blunt. "Yes, Burton, my third gardener, left about three weeks ago, and we took
this fellow on instead."
"Do you remember where he came from?"
"I really don't. MacAlister engaged him. Somebody or other asked me to give him a trial, I think.
Recommended him warmly. I'm rather surprised,
because MacAlister says he isn't much good. He
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wants to sack him."
· 'What is his name?" "Dunning--Sunburymsomething like that."
··Would it be a great impertinence to ask what you pay him?"
A!istair Blunt looked amused.
"Not at all. Two pounds fifteen, I think it is." · "Not more?"
··Certainly not more--might be a bit less." "Now that," said Poirot, "is very curious."
A!istair Blunt looked at him inquiringly.
ONE, TO, BUCKLE MY SHOE 155
But Jane Olivera, rustling the paper, distracted the'
conversation.
"A lot of people seem out for your blood, Uncle
A!istair I"
"Oh, you're reding the debate in the house.
That's all right. Only Archerton--he's always tilting
at windmills. And he's got the most crazy ideas of
finance. If we let him have his way, England would
be bankrupt in a wegk."
Jane said:
"Don't you ever want to try anything new?"
"Not unless it's an improvement on the old, my
dear."
"But you'd never think it would be. You'd. always
say, 'This would never work,--without even trying."
"Experimentalists can do a lot of harm."
"Yes, but how can you be satisfied With things as
they are? All the waste and the inequality and the unfairness.
Something must be done about it!"
"We get along pretty well in this country, Jane, all
things considered."
Jane said passionately:
"What's needed is a new heaven and a new earth!
And you sit there eating kidneys!"
She got up and went out by the French window
into the garden.
Alistair looked mildly surprised and a little uncomfortable.
He said:
"Jane has changtd a lot lately. Where does she get
all these ideas?"
"Take no notice of what Jane says," said Mrs.
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O!ivera. "Jane's a very silly girl. You know what
girls are--they go to these queer parties in studios
156
Agatha Christie
where the young men have funny ties and they come
home and talk a lot of nonsense."
"Yes, but Jane was always rather a hard-boiled
young woman."
"It's just a fashion, Alistair, these things are in the
air I ' '
Alistair Blunt said:
"Yes, they're in the air all right."
He looked a little worried.
Mrs. Olivera rose and Poirot opened the door for
her. She swept out frowning.
Alistair Blunt said suddenly:
"I don't like it, you know! Everybody's talking
this sort of stuff! And it doesn't mean anything! It's
all hot air! I find myself up against it the whole time
--a new heaven and a new earth. What does it mean? They can't tell you themselves! They're just drunk
on
words."
He smiled suddenly, rather ruefully.
"I'm one of the last of the Old Guard, you know."
Poirot said curiously:
"If you were--removed, what would.happen?"
"Removed! What a way of putting it!" His face
grew suddenly grave. "I'll tell you. A lot of damned
fools would try a lot of very costly experiments. And
that would be the end of stability--of common sense,
of solvency. In fact, of this England of ours as we
know it .... "
Poirot nodded his head. He was essentially in sympathy
with the banker. He, too, approved of solvency.
And he began to realize with a new meaning
exactly just what Alistair Blunt stood for. Mr. Barnes
had told him, but he had hardly taken it in then.
Quite suddenly, he was afraid ....
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II
157
"I've finished my letters," said Blunt, appearing later in the morning. "Now, M. Poirot, I'm going to
show you my garden."
The two men went out together and Blunt talked eagerly of his hobby.
The rock garden, with its rare alpine plants, was his greatest joy and they spent some time there while
Blunt pointed out certain minute and rare species.
Hercule Poirot, his feet encased in his best patent leather shoes, listened patiently, shifting his weight
tenderly from one foot to the other and wincing
slightly as the heat of the sun caused the illusion that
his feet were gigantic puddings!
His host strolled on, pointing out various plants in the wide border. Bees were humming and from near
at hand came the monotonous clicking of a pair of
shears trimming a laurel hedge.
It was all very drowsy and peaceful.
Blunt paused at the end of the border, looking back. The clip of the shears was quite close by,
though the clipper was concealed from view.
"Look at the vista down from here, Poirot. The Sweet Williams are particularly fine this year. I don't
know when I've seen them so goodBand those are
Russell Lupins. Marvelous colors."
Crack! The shot broke the peace of the morning. Something sang angrily through the air. Alistair
Blunt turned bewildered to where a faint thread of
smoke was rising from the middle of the laurels.
There was a sudden outcry of angry voices, the laurels heaved as two men struggled together. A high-
pitched
American voice sang out resolutely:
158 Agatha Cttristie
"I've got you, you damned scoundrel! l)rop that gun!"
Two men struggled out into the open. The young gardener who had dug so industriously that morning
was writhing in the powerful grip of a man nearly a
head taller.
Poirot recognized the latter at once. He had
already guessed from the voice.
Frank Carter snarled:
"Let go of me! It wasn't me, I tell you! I never did."
Howard Raikes said:
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"Oh! no? Just shooting at the birds, I suppose!" He stopped--looking at the newcomers.
"Mr. Aiistair Blunt? This guy here has just taken a
pot shot at you. I caught him right in the act." Frank Carter cried out:
"It's a lie! I was clipping the hedge. I heard a shot and the gun fell right here at my feet. I picked it
up--that's only natural, that is, and then this bloke
jumped on me."
Howard Raikes said grimly:
"The gun was in your hand and it had just been fired!"
With a final gesture, he tossed the pistol to Poirot. "Let's see what the dick's got to say about it!
Lucky I got hold of you in time. I guess there are
several more shots in that automatic of yours." Poirot murmured:
"Precisely."
Blunt was frowning angrily. He said sharply:
"Now then, Dunnon--Dunbury--what's your name?"
Hercule Poirot interrupted, He said:
"This man's name is Frank Carter."
159
Carter turned on him furiously.
"You've had it in for me all along! You came spying on me that Sunday. I tell you, it's not true. I
never shot at him."
Hercule Poirot said gently,
"Then, in that case, who did?" He added:
"There is no one else here but ourselves, you see."
III
Jane O!ivera came running along the path. Her
hair streamlined back behind her. Her eyes were wide
with fear. She gasped: "Howard?"
Howard Raikes said lightly:
"Hullo, Jane. I've just been saving your uncle's
life."
"Oh!" She stopped. "You have?"
"Your arrival certainly seems to have been very
opportune, Mr.--erm'' Blunt hesitated.
"This is Howard Raikes, Uncle Alistair. He's a
friend of mine."
Blunt looked at Raikes--he smiled.
"Oh!" he said. "So you are Jane's young man! I must thank you."
With a puffing noise as of a steam engine at high
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pressure Julia Olivera appeared on the scene. She
panted out.'
"I heard a shot. Is A!istair--Why--" She stared
blankly at Howard Raikes. "You? Why, why, how dare you?"
Jane said in an icy voice:
"Howard has just saved Uncle Alistair's life,
mother."
160
ata ritie
"What?
"This man tried to shoot Uncle A!istair and Howard grabbed him and took the pistol away from
him."
Frank Carter said violently:
"You're bloody liars, all of you."
Mrs. Olivera, her jaw dropping, said blankly:
"Oh!" It took her a minute or two to readjust her poise. She turned first to Blunt.
"My dear Alistair! How awful! Thank God you're safe. But it must have been a frightful shock, lwl
feel quite faint myself. I wonder--do you think I
could have just a little brandy?"
Blunt said quickly:
"Of course. Come back to the house."
She took his arm, leaning on it heavily.
Blunt looked over his shouder at Poirot and Howard Raikes.
"Can you bring that fellow along?" he asked. "We'll ring up the police and hand him over."
Frank Carter opened his mouth, but no words came. He was dead white, and his knees were wilting.
Howard Raikes hauled him along with an unsympathetic
hand.
"Come on, you," he said.
Frank Carter murmured hoarsely and unconvincingly:
"It's all a lie .... "
Howard Raikes looked at Poirot.
"You've got precious little to say for yourself for a high-toned sleuth! Why don't you throw your weight
about a bit?"
"I am reflecting, Mr. Raikes."
"I guess you'll need to reflect! I should say you'!! lose your job over this! It isn't thanks to you that
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Alistair Blunt is still alive atthis minute."
"This is your second good deed of the kind, is it not, Mr. Raikes?"
"What the hell do you mean?"
"It was only yesterday, was it not, that you caught
and held the man whom you believed to have shot at
Mr. Blunt and the Prime Minister?"
Howard Raikes said:
"Er--yes. I seem to be making a kind of habit of
it."
"But there is a difference," Hercule Poirot
pointed out. "Yesterday, the man you caught and
held was not the man who fired the shot in question.
You made a mistake."
Frank Carter said sullenly:
"He's made a mistake now."
"Quiet, you," said Raikes.
Hercule Poirot murmured to himself:
"I wonder "
IV
Dressing
for dinner, adjusting his tie to an exact symmetry,
Hercule Poirot frowned at his reflection in
the mirror.
He
was dissatisfied--but he would have been at a loss to
explain why. For the case, as he owned to himself, was
so very clear. Frank Carter had indeed been caught
red-handed.
It was
not as though he had any particular belief in, or
liking for, Frank Carter. Carter, he thought dispassionately, was
definitely what the English call a "wrong 'un."
He was an unpleasant young bully of the kind
that appeals to women, so that they are re
162
Agatha Christie
luctant to believe the worst however plain the evidence.
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And Carter's whole story was weak in the extreme. This tale of having been approached by agents of the
"Secret Service"--and offered a plummy job. To
take the post of gardener and report on the conversations
and actions of the other gardeners. It was a
story that was disproved easily enough--there was no
foundation for it.
A particularly weak invention--the kind of thing, Poirot reflected, that a man like Carter would invent.
And on Carter's side, there was nothing at all to be said. He could offer no alternative explanation,
except that somebody else must have shot off the
revolver. He kept repeating that. It was a frame-up.
No, there was nothing to be said for Carter except, perhaps, that it seemed an odd coincidence that
Howard Raikes should have been present two days
running at the moment when a bullet had just missed
Alistair Blunt.
But presumably there wasn't anything in that. Raikes certainly hadn't fired the shot in Downing
Street. And his presence down here was fully accounted
for--he had come down to be near his girl.
No, there was nothing definitely improbable in his story.
It had turned out, of course, very fortunately for Howard Raikes. When a man has just saved you
from a bullet, you cannot forbid him the house. The
least you can do is to show friendliness and extend
hospitality. Mrs. Olivera didn't like it, obviously, but
even she saw that there was nothing to be done about
it.
Jane's undesirable young man had got his foot in and he meant to keep it there!
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
163
Poirot watched him speculatively during the evening.
He was playing his part with a good deal of astuteness. He did not air any subversive views, he kept off
politics. He told amusing stories of his hitchhikes
and tramps in wild places.
"He is no longer the wolf," thought Poirot. "No,
he has put on the sheep's clothing. But underneath? I
wonder .... "
As Poirot was preparing for bed that night, there
was a rap on the door. Poirot called, "Come in,"
and Howard Raikes entered.
He laughed at Poirot's expression.
"Surprised to see me? I've had my eye on you all
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evening. I didn't like the way you were looking. Kind
of thoughtful."
"Why should that worry you, my friend?"
"I don't know why, but it did. I thought maybe
that you were finding certain things just a bit hard to
swallow."
"Eh bien? And if so?"
"Well, I decided that I'd best come clean. About
yesterday, I mean. That was a fake show all right!
You see, I was watching his lordship come out of 10
Downing Street and I saw Ram Lal fire at him. I
know Ram Lal. He's a nice kid. A bit excitable but he
feels the wrongs of India very keenly. Well, there was
no harm done, that precious pair of stuffed shirts
weren't harmed--the bullet had missed 'em both by
miles--so I decided to put up a show and hope the Indian
kid would get clear. I grabbed hold of a shabby
little guy just by me and called out that I'd got the
villain and hoped Ram Lal was beating it all right.
But the dicks were too smart. They were onto him in
a flash. That's just how it was. See?"
164
Agatha Christie'
Hercule Poirot said:
"And today?"
"That's different. There weren't any Ram Lals
about to-day. Carter was the only man on the spot. He fired that pistol all right! It was still in his hand
when I jumped on him. He was going to try a second
shot, I expect."
Poirot said:
"You were very anxious to preserve the safety of
M. Blunt?"
Raikes grinned--an engaging grin.
"A bit odd, you think, after all I've said? Oh, 1
admit it. I think Blunt is a guy who ought to be shot
--for the sake of progress and humanity--I don't
mean personally--he's anice enough'old boy in his
British way. I think that, and yet when I saw someone
taking a pot shot at him I leaped in and interfered.
That shows you how illogical the human
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animal is. It's crazy, isn't it?"
"The Rap between theory and practice is a wide
one."
"I'll say it is!" Mr. Raikes got up from the bed
where he had been sitting.
His. smile was easy and confiding.
"I just thought," he said, "that I'd come along
and explain the thing to you."
He went out, shutting the door carefully behind
him. ·
V
"Deliver me, 0 Lord, from the evil man, and preserve
me from the wicked man," sang Mrs. Olivera
in a firm voice, slightly off the note.
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165
There was a relentlessness about her enunciation
of the sentiment which made Hercule Poirot deduce that Mr. Howard Raikes was the wicked man
immediately
in her mind.
Hercule Poirot had accompanied his host and the
fmily to the morning service in the village church.
Howard Raikes had said with a faint sneer:
"So you always go to church, Mr. Blunt?"
And Alistair had murmured vaguely something
alOUt it being expected of you in the country--can't let the parson down, you know--which typically
English sentiment had merely bewildered the young
nan, and had made Hercule Poirot smile comprehndingly.
Mrs. Olivera had tactfully accompanied her host
a0d commanded Jane to do likewise.
"They have sharpened their tongues like a serpent," sang the choir boys in shrill treble, "adder's
poison is under their lips."
The tenors and basses demanded with gusto: "Keep me, 0 Lord, from the hands of the ungodly.
Preserve me from the wicked men who are
purposed to o verthro w my goings."
Hercule Poirot essayed a hesitant baritone.
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"The proud have laid a snare for me," he sang, "and spread a net with cords: yea, and set traps in
rY way....
His mouth remained open.
He saw/t--saw clearly the trap into which he had
sO nearly fallen!
A snare cunningly !aid--a net with cords--a pit
open at his feet--dug carefully so that he should fall
ito it.
Like a man in a trance Hercule Poirot remained, outh ope, staring into space. He remained there as
166
Agatha Christie
the congregation seated themselves with a rustle; until
Jane Olivera tugged at his arm and murmured a
sharp, "Sit down."
Hercule Poirot sat down. An aged clergyman with
a beard intoned, "Here beginneth the fifteth
chapter of the First Book of Samuel," and began to
read.
But Poirot heard nothing of the smiting of the
Amalekites.
He was in a daze--a glorious daze where isolated
facts spun wildly round before settling neatly into
their appointed places.
It was like a kaleidoscope--shoe buckles, size ten
stockings, a damaged face, the low tastes in literature
of Alfred the page boy, the activities of Mr. Amberiotis,
and the part played by the late Mr. Morley, all
rose up and whirled and settled themselves down into
a coherent pattern.
For the first time, Hercule Poirot was looking at
the case the right way up.
· 'For rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft and stubbornness
is as iniquity and idolatry. Because thou
hast rejected the word of the Lord he hath also rejected
thee from being king. Here endeth the first
lesson," quavered the aged clergyman all in one
breath.
As one in a dream, Hercule Poirot rose to praise
the Lord in the Te Deum.
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7
Thirteen, Fourteen,
Maids Are Courting
"M. Reilly, is it not?"
The young Irishman started as the voice spoke a
his elbow.
He turned.
Standing next to him at the counter of the Shippinl
Company was a small man with large moustache
and an egg-shaped head.
"You do not remember me, perhaps?"
"You do yourself an injustice, M. Poirot. You'r
not a man who's easily forgotten."
He turned back to speak to the clerk who was wai ing behind the counter.
The voice at his elbow murmured:
"You are going abroad for a holiday?"
"It's not a holiday I'm taking. And you yourselt
M. Poirot? You're not turning your back on
country, I hope?"
167
168
Agatha Christie
"SometirOes," said Hercule Poirot, "I return for a
short while to my own country--Belgium."
"I'm goirg further than that," said Reilly. "It's
America for me." He added: "And I don't think I'll
be coming bck, either."
"I'm sorrr to hear that, Mr. Reilly. You are, then,
abandoning your practice in Queen Charlotte
Street?"
"If you'd say it was abandoning me, you'd be
nearer the mtrk."
"Indeed? 'That is very sad."
"It doesn't worry me, When I think of the debts I
shall leave blind me unpaid,.1'm a happy man."
He grinned engagingly.
"It's not I who'll be shooting myself because of
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money troulles. Leave them behind you, I say, and
start afresh. I've got my qualifications and they're
good ones if I say so myself."
Poirot mu'mured:
"I saw MiS Morley the other day."
"Was that a pleasure to you? I'd say it was not. A
more sour-faced woman never lived, I've often
wondered wDat she'd be like drunk--but that's what
no one will ever know."
Poirot said:
"Did you agree with the verdict of the coroner's
court on your partner's death?"
"I did not," said Reilly emphatically.
"You don't think he made a mistake in the injection?''
Reilly said:
."If Morley injected that Greek with the amount
that they say he did, he was either drunk or else he
meant to kill the man. And I've never seen Morley
drink."
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
169
"So you think it was deliberate?"
"I'd not like to be saying that. It's a grave accusation
to be making. Truly now, I don't believe it."
"There must be some explanation."
"There must indeed--but I've not thought of it
yet."
Poirot said,
"When did you last actually see Mr. Morley
alive?"
"Let me see now. It's a long time after to be asking
me a thing like that. It would be the night before--about
a quarter to seven."
"You didn't see him on the actual day of the
murder?"
Reilly shook his head.
"You are sure?" Poirot persisted.
"Oh, I'd not say that. But I don't rememberw"
"You did not, for instance, go up to his room
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about 11:35 when he had a patient there."
"You're right now. I did. There was a technical
question I had to ask him about some instruments I
was ordering. They'd rung me up about it. But I was
only there for a minute, so it slipped my memory. He
had a patient there at the time."
Poirot nodded. He said:
"There is another question I always meant to ask
you. Your patient, Mr. Raikes, cancelled his appointment
by walking out. What did you do during that
half hour's leisure?"
"What I always do when I have any leisure. Mixed
myself a drink. And as I've been telling you, I put
through a telephone call and ran up to see Morley for
a minute."
Poirot said:
"And I also understand that you had no patient
170
Agatha Christie
from half past twelve to one after Mr. Barnes left.
When did he leave, by the way?"
"Oh! Just after half past twelve."
"And what did you do then?"
"The same as before. Mixed myself another
drink!"
"And went up to see Morley again?"
Mr. Rei!ly smiled.
"Are you meaning did I go up and shoot him? I've
told you already, long ago, that I did not. But you've
only my word for it."
Poirot said:
"What did you think of the house-parlormaid,
Agnes?"
Reilly stared':
"Now that's a funny question to be asking."
"But I should like to know."
"I'll answer you. I didn't think about her. Georgina
kept a strict eye on the maidsmand quite right
too. The girl never looked my way oncemwhich was
bad taste on her part."
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"I have a feeling," said Hercule Poirot, "that that
girl knows something."
He looked inquiringly at Mr. Reilly. The latter
smiled and shook his head.
"Don't ask me," he said. "I know nothing about
it. I can't help you at all."
He gathered up the tickets which were lying in
front of him and went off with a nod and a smile.
Poirot explained to a disillusioned clerk that he
would not make up his mind about that cruise to the
Northern Capitals after all.
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
II
171
Poirot paid another visit to Hampstead. Mrs. Adams was a little surprised, perhaps, to see him.
Though he had been vouched for, so to speak, by a
Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard, she nevertheless
regarded him as a "quaint little foreigner" and had
not taken his pretensions very seriously. She was,
however, very willing to talk.
After the first sensational announcement about the identity of the victim, the findings of the inquest had
received little publicity. It had been a case of mistaken
identity--the body of Mrs. Chapman had been
mistaken for that of Miss Sainsbury Seale. That was
all that the public knew. The fact that Miss Sainsbury
Seale had been probably the last person to see the unfortunate
Mrs. Chapman alive was not stressed.
There had been no hint in the press that Miss Sainso
bury Seale might possibly be wanted by the police on
a criminal charge.
Mrs. Adams had been very relieved when she knew that it was not her friend's body which had been
discovered so dramatically. She appeared to have no
idea that any suspicion might attach to Mabelle
Sainsbury Seale.
"But it is so extraordinary that she has disappeared like this. I feel sure, M. Poirot, that it must be
loss of memory."
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Poirot said that it was very probable. He had known cases of the kind.
"Yes--I remember a friend of one of my cousins She'd had a lot of nursing and worry, and it brought
it on. Amnesia, I think they called it."
Poirot said that he believed that that was the technical term.
172 Agatha Christie
He paused and then asked if Mrs. Adams had ever
heard Miss Sainsbury Scale speak of a Mrs. Albert
Chapman?
No, Mrs. Adams never remembered her friend
mentioning anyone of that name. But then, of
course, it wasn't likely that Miss Sainsbury Scale
should happen to mention everyone with whom she
was acquainted. Who was this Mrs. Chapman? Had
the police any idea who could have murdered her?
"It is still a mystery, Madame." Poirot shook his
head and then asked if it was Mrs. Adams who had
recommended Mr. Morley as a dentist to Miss
Sainsbury Scale.
Mrs. Adams replied in the negative. She herself
went to a Mr. French in Harley Street and if Mabe!le
had asked her about a dentist, she would have sent
her to him.
Possibly, Poirot thought, it might have been this
Mrs. Chapman who recommended Miss Sainsbury
Scale to go to Mr. Morley.
Mrs. Adams agreed that it might have been. Didn't
they know at the dentist's?
But Poirot had already asked Miss Nevill that
question and Miss Nevill had not known or had not
remembered. She recollected Mrs. Chapman, but did
not think the latter had ever mentioned a Miss
Sainsbury Scale--the name being an odd one, she
would have remembered it had she heard it then.
Poirot persevered with his questions.
Mrs. Adams had known Miss Sainsbury Scale first
in India, had she not? Mrs. Adams agreed.
Did Mrs. Adams know if Miss Sainsbury Scale had
met Mr. or Mrs. Alistair Blunt at any time out there?
"Oh, I don't think so, M. Poirot. You mean the
big banker? They were out some years ago staying
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173
with the Viceroy, but I'm sure if Mabelle had met
them at all, she would have talked about it or mentioned
them.
"I'm afraid," added Mrs. AdamS, with a faint
smile, "one does usually mention the important
people. We're all such snobs at heart."
·
"She never did mention the Blunts--Mrs. Blunt
in particular?"
"Never."
"If she had been a close friend of Mrs. B!unt's
probably you would have known?"
"Oh, yes. I don't believe she knew anyone like
that. Mabelle's friends were all very ordinary people
--like us."
"That, Madame, I cannot allow," said Poirot
gallantly.
Mrs. Adams went on talking of Mabe!le Sainsbury
Seale as one talks of a friend who has recently died.
She recalled all Mabelle's good works, her kindnesses,
her indefatigable work for the Mission, her
zeal, her earnestness.
Hercule Poirot listened. As Japp had said, Mabelle
Sainsbury Se. ale was a real person. She had lived in
Calcutta and taught elocution and worked among the
native population. She had been respectable, well-meaning, a little fussy and stupid perhaps, but also
what is termed a woman with a heart of gold.
And Mrs. Adams' voice ran on:
"She was so much in earnest over everything, M.
Poirot. And she found people so apathetic--so hard
to rouse. It was very difficult to get subscriptions out
of people--worse every year, with the income tax rising
and the cost of living and everything. She said to
me once: 'When one knows what money can do--the
wonderful good you can accomplish with it--well,
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Aatha Christie
really, sometimes, Alice, I feel I would commit a crime to get it.' That shows, doesn't it, M. Poirot,
how strongly she felt?"
"She said that, did she?" said Poirot thoughtfully.
He asked, casually, when Miss Sainsbury Seale had
enunciated this particular statement, and learned that
it had been about three months ago.
He left the house and walked away lost in thought.
He was considering the character of Mabelle Sains-bury
Seale.
A nice woman--an earnest and kindly woman--a
respectable dent type of woman. It was among that
type of person that Mr. Barnes had suggested a
potential criminal could be found.
She had traveled back on the same boat from India
as Mr. Amberiotis. There seemed reason to believe
that she had lunched with him at the Savoy.
She had accosted and claimed acquaintance with
Alistair Blunt and laid claim to an intimacy with his
wife.
She had twice visited King Leopold Mansions
where, later, a dead body had been found dressed in
her clothes and with her handbag conveniently identifying
it.
A little too convenient, that!
She had left the Glengowrie Court Hotel suddenly
after an interview with the police.
Could the theory that Hercule Poirot believed to
be true account for and explain all those facts?
He thought it could.
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
175
III
These meditations had occupied Hercule Poirot on his homeward way until he reached Regent's Park.
He decided to traverse a part of the Park on foot before
taking a taxi. By experience, he knew to a nicety
the moment when his smart patent leather shoes
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began to press painfully on his feet.
It was a lovely summer's day and Poirot looked indulgently on courting nursemaids and their swains,
laughing and giggling while their chubby charges
profited by nurse's inattention. Dogs barked and romped.
Little boys sailed boats.
And under nearly every tree was a couple sitting close together....
"Ah! Jeunesse, jeunesse," murmured Hercule Poirot, pleasurably affected by the sight.
They were chic, these little London girls. They wore their tawdry clothes with an air.
Their figures, however, he considered, lamentably deficient. Where were the rich curves, the voluptuous
lines that had formerly delighted the eye of an
admirer?
He, Hercule Poirot, remembered women .... One woman, in particular--what a sumptuous creature--a
Bird of Paradise--a Venus ....
What woman was there among these pretty chits nowadays, who could hold a candle to Countess Vera
Rossakoff? A genuine Russian aristocrat, an aristocrat
to her fingertips! And also, he remembered, a
most accomplished thief One of those natural
genuises
....
With
a sigh, Poirot wrenched his thoughts away from
the flamboyant creature of his dreams.
176
Agatha Christie
It was not only, he noted, the little nursemaids and their like who were being wooed under the trees of
Regent's Park.
That was a Schiaparelli creation there, under that lime tree, with the young man who bent his head so
close to hers, who was pleading so earnestly.
One must not yield too soon! He hoped the girl understood that. The pleasure of the chase must be
extended as long as possible ....
His beneficent eye still on them, he became suddenly aware of a familiarity in'those two figures.
So Jane Olivera had come to Regent's Park to meet her young American revolutionary?
His face grew suddenly sad and rather stern.
After only a brief hesitation he crossed the grass to
them. Sweeping off his hat with a flourish, he said: "Bonjour, Mademoiselle."
Jane Olivera, .he thought, was not entirely displeased to see him.
Howard Raikes, on the other hand, was a good
deal annoyed at the interruption.
He growled:
"Oh, so it'syou again!"
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"Good afternoon, M. Poirot," said Jane. "How unexpectedly you always pop up, don't you?"
"Kind of a Jack-in-the-Box," said Raikes, still eyeing Poirot with considerable coldness.
"I do not intrude?" Poirot asked anxiously. Jane Olivera said kindly:
"Not at all."
Howard Raikes said nothing.
"It is a pleasant spot you have found here," said Poirot.
"It was," said Mr. Raikes.
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE 177
Jane said: "Be quiet, Howard. You need to learn
manners!"
Howard Raikes snorted and asked:
"What's the good of manners?"
"You'll find they kind of help you along," said
Jane. "I haven't got any myself, but that doesn't
matter so much. To begin with I'm rich, and I'm
moderately good looking, and I've got a lot of influential
friends--and none of those unfortunate disabilities
they talk about so freely in the advertisements
nowadays. I can get along all right without
manners."
Raikes said:
"I'm not in the mood for small talk, Jane. I guess
VII take myself off."
He got up, nodded curtly to Poirot and strode
away.
Jane O!ivera stared after him, her chin cupped in
her palm.
Poirot said with a sigh:
"Alas, the proverb is true. When you are courting,
two is company, is it not, three is none?"
Jane said:
"Courting? What a word!"
"But yes, it is the right word, is it not? For a young
man who pays attention to a young, lady before asking
her hand in marriage? They say, do they not, a
courting couple?"
"Your friends seem to say some very funny
things."
Hercule Poirot chanted softly:
"Thirteen, fourteen, maids are courting. See, all
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around us they are doing it."
Jane said sharply:
!78
atha hrtie
"Yes--I'm just one of a crowd, I suppose "
She
turned suddenly to Poirot.
"I
want to apologize to you. I made a mistake the other
day. I thought you had wormed your way in and
come down to Exsham just to spy on Howard. But
afterwards Uncle Alistair told me that he had definitely
asked you because he wanted you to clear up
this business of that missing womantSainsbury
Seale.
That's right, isn't it?"
"Absolutely."
"So I'm sorry for what I said to you that evening. But
it did look like it, you know. I meantas though you were just following Howard and spying on us both."
"Even
if it were true, Mademoiselle--I was an excellent
witness to the fact that Mr. Raikes bravely saved
your uncle's life by springing on his assailant and
preventing him from firing another shot."
"You've
got a funny way of saying things, M.
Poirot.
I never know whether you're serious or not." Poirot
said gravely:
"At
the moment I am very serious, Miss Olivera." Jane
said with a slight break in her voice:
"Why
do you look at me like that? As though--as though you
were sorry for me?"
"Perhaps because
I am sorry, Mademoiselle, for
the things
that I shall have to do so soon "
"Well, then--don't
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do
them!"
"Alas, Mademoiselle, but
I must "
She stared at
him
for a minute or two, then she said:
!'I-lve
you
found that woman?"
it said:
s say--that I know where she is.'"
' dead?"
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
179
"I have not said so."
"She's alive, then?"
"I have not said that either."
Jane looked at him with irritation. She exclaimed:
"Well, she's got to be one or the other, hasn't
she?"
"Actually, it is not quite so simple."
"I believe you just like making things difficult!"
"It has been said of me," admitted Hercule
Poirot.
Jane shivered. She said:
"Isn't it funny? It's a lovely warm day--and yet I
suddenly feel cold .... "
"Perhaps you had better walk on, Madembise!!e."
Jane rose to her feet. She stood a minute irresolute.
She said abruptly:
"Howard wants me to marry him. At once.
Without letting anyone know. He says--he says it's
the only way I'll ever do it--that I'm weakm" She
broke off, then with one hand she gripped Poirot's
arm with surprising strength. "What shall I do about
it, M. Poirot?"
"Why ask me to advise you? There are those who
are nearer I"
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"Mother? She'd scream the house down at the
bare idea! Uncle Alistair? He'd be cautious and
prosy. 'Plenty of time, my dear. Got to make quite
sure, you know. Bit of an odd fish--this young man
of yours. No sense in rushing things--'"
"Your friends?" suggested Poirot.
"I haven't got any friends. Only a silly crowd I
drink and dance and talk inane catchwords with!
Howard's the only real person I've ever come up
against."
'Still--why ask me, Miss Olivera?"
180
Agatha Chrtie
Jane said:
"Because you've got a queer look on your face--as
though you were sorry about something--as though
you knew something that--that--was--coming "
She
stopped.
"Well?"
she demanded. "What do you say?"
Hercule
Poirot slowly shook his head.
IV
When
Poirot reached home, George said: "Chief
Inspector Japp is here, sir."
Japp
grinned in a rueful ,way as Poirot came into the
room.
"Here
I am, old boy. Come round to say aren't you
a marvel? How do you do it? What makes you think
of these things?"
"All
this meaning--? But pardon, you will have
some
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refreshment? Wine? Or perhaps the whisky?" "The
whisky is good enough for me."
A
few minutes later he raised his glass, observing: "Here's
to Hercule Poirot who is always right!" "No,
no, mort ami."
"Here
we had a lovely case of suicide. H. P. says it's
murder--wants it to be murder--and dash it all, it/s
murder!"
"Ah?
So you agree at last?"
"Well,
nobody can say I'm pig-headed. I don't fly in
the face of evidence. The trouble was there wasn't any
evidence before."
"But
there is now?"
"Yes,
and I've come round to make the amende honorable, as you call it, and present the tidbit to you on
toast, as it were."
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
181
"I am all agog, my good Japp."
"All right. Here goes. The pistol that Frank Carter
tried to shoot Blunt with on SatUrday is a twin pistol
to the one that killed Morley!"
Poirot stared:
"But that is extraordinary!"
"Yes, it makes it look rather black for Master
Frank."
"It is not conclusive."
"No, but it's enough to make us reconsider the
suicide verdict. They're a foreign make of pistol and
rather uncommon at that!"
Hercule Poirot stared. His eyebrows looked like
crescent moons. He said at last:
"Frank Carter? No--surely not I"
Japp breatheda sigh of exasperation.
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"What's the matter with you, Poirot? First you
will have it that Morley was murdered and that it
wasn't suicide. Then when I come and tell you we're
inclined to come round to your view you hem and
haw and don't seem to like it."
"You really believe that' Morley was murdered by
Frank Carter?"
"It fits. Carter had got a grudge against Morley--that
we knew all along. He came to Queen Charlotte
Street that morning--and he pretended afterwards
that he had come along to tell his young woman he'd
got a job--but we've now discovered that he hadn't got the job then. He didn't get it till later in the day.
He admits that now. So there's lie Number 1. He
can't account for where he was at twenty-five past
twelve onwards. Says he was walking in the Maryle-bone
Road, but the first thing he can prove is having
a drink in a pub at five past one. And the barman
says he was in a regular state--his hand shaking and
182
Asatha Christie
his face as white as a sheet!"
Hercule Poirot sighed and shoo his head. He
murmured:
"It does not accord with my ideas?'
"What are these ideas of yours?"
"It is very disturbing what yoO tell me. Very
disturbing indeed. Because, you ee, if you are
right..."
The door opened softly and (;corse murmured
deferentially:
"Excuse me, sir, but..."
He got no further. Miss G!adys Ievill thrust him
aside and came agitatedly into the from' She was crying,
"Oh, M. Poirot--"
"Here, VII be off," said Japp hurtedly'
He left the room precipitately.
Gladys Nevill paid his back the tfibute of a venomous
look.
"That's the manmthat horrid Inspector from
Scotland Yard--it's he who has truVlped up a whole case against poor Frank."
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"Now, now, you must not agitate -ours.elf."..
"But he has. First .they pretend that he trlei to
murder' this Mr. Blunt and not c.ntent with that
they've accused him of murdelng poor Mr.
Morle
rot coughed. He said:
there, you know, al Exsham, when
' at Mr. Blunt."
'd with a somewht confusing use
"--'"
'i did do oolish '.hing like
,';Tl.'..
d--
a {.
on toast, as it e
anners aa
'
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
183
lous salute, and of course I suppose Mr. BlUnt's wife was a very prominent Jewess, and they just work
up these poor young men--quite harmless ones like
Frank--until they think they are doing something
wonderful and patriotic."
"Is that Mr. Carter's defense?" asked Hercule Poirot.
"Oh, no. Frank just swears he didn't do anything and had never seen the pistol before. I haven't
spoken to him, of course--they wouldn't let me--but
he's got a solicitor acting for him and he told me
what Frank had said. Frank just says it's all a frame-up."
Poirot murmured:
"And the solicitor is of the opinion that his client had better think of a more plausible story?"
"Lawyers are so difficult. They won't say anything straight out. But it's the murder charge I'm worrying
about. Oh! M. Poirot, I'm sure Frank couldn't have
killed Mr. Morley. I mean really--he hadn't any
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reason to."
"Is it true," said Poirot, "that when he came round that morning he had not yet got a job of any
kind?"
"Well, really, M. Poirot, I don't see what difference that makes. Whether he got the job in the
morning or the afternoon can't matter."
Poirot said:
"But his story was that he came to tell you about his good luck. Now, it seems, he had as yet had no
luck. Why, then, did he come?"
"Well, M. Poirot, the poor boy was dispirited and upset, and to tell the truth I believe he'd been drinking
a little. Poor Frank has rather a weak head--and
the drink upset him and so he felt like--like making a
184 /lgatha Christie
row, and he came round to Queen Charlotte Street to
have it out with Mr. Morley, because, you see, Frank
is awfully sensitive and it had upset him a lot to feel
that Mr. Morley disapproved of him, and was what
he called poisoning my mind."
"So he conceived the idea of making a scene in
business hours?"
"Welltyesl suppose, that was his idea. Of
course it was very wrong of Frank to think of such a
thing."
Poirot looked thoughtfully at the tearful blond
young woman in front of him. He said:
"Did you know that Frank Carter had a pistol--or
a pair of pistols?"
"Oh, no, M. Poirot. I swear I didn't. And I don't
believe it's true, either."
Poirot shook his head slowly in a perplexed
manner.
"Oh! M. Poirot, do help us. If I could only feel
that you were on our side--"
Poirot said:
"I do not take sides. I am on the side only of the
truth.'"
honorab!,,.'
on toast, as it
e girl, Poirot rang up
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get returned but Detecging
and informative.
'ound any evidence to
,n of the pistol before
houghtfully. It was a
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
185
point in Carter's favor. But so far it was the only one.
He had also learned from Beddoes a few more details as to the statement Frank Carter had made
about his employment as gardener at Exsham. He
stuck to his story of a Secret Service job. He had been
given money in advance and some testimonials as to
his gardening abilities and been told to apply to Mr.
MacAlister, the head gardener, for the post. His instructions
were to listen to the other gardeners' conversations
and sound them as to their "red" tendencies,
and to pretend to be a bit of a "red" himself.
He had been interviewed and instructed in his task
a woman who had told him that she was known as
Q.H.56 and that he had been recommended to her as
a strong anti-communist. She had interviewed him
a dim light and he did not think he would know
again. She was a red-haired lady with a lot of makeup on.
Poirot groaned. The Phillips Oppenheim touch seemed to be reappearing.
He was tempted to consult Mr. Barnes on the sub
According to Mr. Barnes these things happened.
The last post brought him something which dis. turbed him more still.
A cheap envelope addressed in an unformed band writing, postmarked Hertfordshire.
Poirot opened it and read:
DEAR SIR,
Hoping as you will forgive me for troubling you, but I am very worried and do not know
what to do. I do not want to be mixed up with
186
Agatha Christie
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the police in any way. I know that perhaps I ought to have told something I know before, but
as they said the master had shot himself it was all
right I thought. And I wouldn't have liked to get
Miss Nevill's young man into trouble and never
thought really for one moment as he had done it.
But now I see he has been took up for shooting
at a gentleman in the country and so perhaps he
isn't quite all there and I ought to say but I
thought I would write to you, you being a friend
of the mistress and asking me so particular the
other day if there was anything and of course I
wish now I had told you then. But I do hope it
won't mean getting mixed up with the police because
I shouldn't like that and my mother
wouldn't like it either. She has always been most
particular.
Yours respectfully,
AGNES FLETCHER.
Poirot murmured:
"I always knew it was something to do with some man. I guessed the w,-,-- n, that is all."
honorab!,o
on toast, as
$
Fifteen, Sixteen,
Maids in the Kitchen
The interview with Agnes Fletcher took place i Hertfordshire, in a somewhat derelict tea shop, fo
Agnes had been anxious not to tell her story unde
Miss Morley's critical eye.
The first quarter of an hour was taken up in lis tening to exactly how particular Agnes's mother had
always been. Also, how Agnes's father, though a
proprietor of licensed premises, had never once ha
any friction with the police, closing time bein8
strictly observed to the second, and indeed Agnes',
father and mother were universally respected an¢
looked up to in Little Darlingham, Gloucestershire
and none of Mrs. Fletcher's family of six (two havinl
died in infancy) had ever occasioned their parents th
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least anxiety. And if Agnes, now, were to get mixeo
up with the police in any way, Mum and Dad would
probably die of it, because as she'd been saying,
187
188
Agatha Christie
they'd always held their heads high, and never had no
· trouble of any kind with the police.
After this had been repeated, da capo, and with
variols embellishments, several times, Agnes drew a
little tlearer to the subject of the interview.
"I Wouldn't like to say anything to Miss Morley,
sir, because it might be, you see, that she'd say as
how I ought to have said something before, but me
and COok, we talked it over and we didn't see as it
was any business of ours, because we'd read quite
clear and plain in the paper as how the master had
made a mistake in the drug he was giving and that
he'd Shot himself and the pistol was in his hands and
everything, so it did seem quite clear, didn't it, sir?"
"When did you begin to feel differently?" Poirot
hoped to get a little nearer the promised revelation by
an en%uraging but not too direct question.
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Agrees replied promptly:
"Seeing it in the paper about that Frank Carter--
Miss Nevill,s young man as was. When I read as he'd
shot at that gentleman where he was gardener, well, I
thought, it looks as if b- ight be queer in the head,
because I do k,'
people it takes like that,
think..t.
a.
ted, or something, and
'nemies, and in the end
home and they have to
, .o
And I thought that
.
'e that, because I did
'
about Mr. Morley
'
t him and trying to
?
.
'ut of course she
honorcthlo, r'
because you
.... '-,o
'y nice looking
on toast, as it ('s.
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', neither of us
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
189
thought he'd really done anything to Mr. Morley. We
just thought it was a bit queer if you know what I
mean."
Poirot said patiently:
"What was queer?"
"It was that morning, sir, the morning Mr. Morley
shot himself. I'd been wondering if I dared run down
and get the post. The postman had come but that
Alfred hadn't brought up the letters, which he
wouldn't do, not unless there was some for Miss
Morley or Mr. Morley, but if it was just for Emma or
me he wouldn't bother to bring them up till lunch
time.
"So I went out on the landing and I looked down
over the stairs. Miss Morley didn't like us going
down to the hall, not during the master's business
hours, but I thought maybe as I'd see Alfred taking
in a patient to the master and I'd call down to him as
he came back."
Agnes gasped, took a deep breath and went on:
"And it was then I saw him--that Frank Carter, I mean. Half way up the stairs he was--our stairs, I mean,
above the master's floor. And he was standing
there waiting and looking down--and I've come to
feel more and more as though there was something queer about it. He seemed to be listening very intent,
if you know what I mean."
"What time was this?"
"It must have been getting on for half past twelve,
sir. And just as I was thinking, there, now, it's Frank
Carter, and Miss Nevil!'s away for the day and won't he be disappointed, and I was wondering if I ought
to
run down and tell him because it looked as though
that lump of an Alfred had forgot, otherwise I
thought he wouldn't have been waiting for her. And
190
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Agatha Christie
lust as I was hesitating, Mr. Carter, he seemed to
make up his mind, and he slipped down the stairs
very quick and went along the passage towards the
master's surgery, and I thought to myself, the master
won't like that, and I wondered if there was going te
be a row. But just then Emma called me, said what.
ever was I up to? and I went up again.and then, afterwards,
I heard the master had shot himself and, of
course, it was so awful it just drove everything out of
my head. But later, when that police Inspector had
gone I said to Emma, I said, I didn't say anything
about Mr. Caner having been up with the master this
morning, and she said was h/? and I told her, and she
said well, perhaps I ought to tell, but anyway 1 said I'd better wait a bit, and she agreed, because neither
of us didn't want to get Frank Caner into trouble if
we could help. And then, when it came to the inquest
and it come out that the master had made that mistake
in a drug and really had got panicky and shot
himself, quite natural-like--we!l, then, of course,
there was no call to say anything. But reading that
piece in the paper two days ago--oh! it did give me a
turn! And I said to myself, if he's one of those
loonies that thinks they're persecuted and goes round
shooting people, well, then maybe he did shoot the
master after all!"
Her eyes, anxious and scared, looked hopefully at
Hercule Poirot. He put as much reassurance into his
voice as he could.
"You may be sure that you have done absolutely
the right thing in telling me, Agnes," he said.
"Well, I must say, sir, it docs take a load off my
mind. You sec, I've kept saying to myself as perhaps I ought to tell. And then, you see, I thought of
getting mixed up with the police and what mother
ONE, TWo, SUCZ.E My SOE 19
would say. She's always been so particular about
all .... "
"Yes, yes," said Hercule Poirot hastily.
He had had, he felt, as much of Agnes's mother z
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he could stand for one afternoon.
Poirot called at Scotland Yard and asked for .lapl
When he was taken up to the Chief Inspector's roon
"I want to see Carter," said Hercule Po/rot.
Japp shot him a quick, sideways glance. He said:
"What's the big idea?"
"You are unwilling?,,
Japp shrugged his shoulders. He said:
"Oh, I shan't make objections. No good if i did
Who's the Home Secretary's little pet? You ar
Who's got half the Cabinet in his pocket? You have
Hushing up their scandals for them."
Poirot's mind flew for a moment to that case
he had named the Case of the Augcan Stables. H
murmured, not without complacence:
"It was ingenious, yes? You must admit it. We
imagined, let us say."
"Nobody but you would ever have thought of suc
a thing! SOmetimes, Poirot, I think you haven't an
scruples at allI"
Poirot's face became suddenly grave. He said:
"That is not true."
"Oh, all right, Poirot, I didn't mean it. But you' so pleased sometimes with your damned ingenuit]
What do you want to see Carter for? To ask
whether he really murdered Morley?',
192
atha
To Jlapp's surprise, Poirot nodded his head em-phatica!ly.
"Ye, my friend, that is exactly the reason."
"And I suppose you think he'll tell you if he did?"
Japi laughed as he spoke. But Hercule Poirot
mainedt grave. He said:
"He. might tell me--yes."
Japl looked at him curiously. He said:
"You know, I've known you a long time--twenty
years? Something like that. But I still don't always
catch on to what you're driving at. I know you've got
a bee i:n your bonnet about young Frank Carter. For
some reason or other, you don't want him to be
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guilty--"
Hercule Poirot shook his head energetically.
"No, no, there you are wrong. It is the other way
about--"
"I thought perhaps it was on account of that girl
of his--the blond piece. You're a sentimental old
buzzard in some ways--"
Poirot was immediately indignant.
"It is not I who am sentimental! That is an English
failing! It is in England that they weep over young
sweethearts and dying mothers and devoted children.
Me, I am logical. If Frank Carter is a killer, then I am
certainly not sentimental enough to wish to unite him
in marriage to a nice but commonplace girl who, if he
is hanged, will forget him in a year or two and find
someone else."
"Then why don't you want to believe he is
guilty?"
"I do want to believe he is guilty."
"I suppose you mean that you've got hold of
something which more or less conclusively proves
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
193
him to be innocent? Why hold' it up, then? You ought to play fair with us, Poirot."
"I am playing fair with you. Presently, very shortly, I will give you the name and address of a
witness who will be invaluable to you for the prosecution.
Her evidence ought to clinch the case against
him."
"But then-- Oh! You've got me all tangled up. Why are you so anxious to see him?"
"To satisfy myself," said Hercule Poirot.
And he would say no more.
III
Frank Carter, haggard, white-faced, still feebly inclined to bluster, looked on his unexpected visitor
with unconcealed disfavor. He said rudely:
"So it's you, you ruddy little foreigner? What do you want?"
"I want to see you and talk to you."
"Well, you see me all right. But I won't talk. Not without my lawyer. That's right., isn't it? You can't
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go against that. I've got the right to have my solicitor
present before I say a word."
"Certainly you have. You can send for him if you like--but I should prefer that you did not."
"I daresay. Think you're going to trap me into
making some damaging admissions, eh?"
"We are quite alone, remember."
"That's a bit unusual, isn't it? Got your Police pals listening in, I've no doubt."
"You are wrong.This is a private interview between you and me."
194 Agatha Christie
Frank Carter laughed. He looked cunning and
unpleasant. He said:
"Come off it! You don't take me in with that old
gag."
"Do you remember a girl called Agnes Fletcher?"
"Never heard o if her."
"I think you will remember her, though you may
never have taken much notice of her. She was house-
parlormaid at 58 Queen Charlotte Street."
"Well, what of it?"
Hercule Poirot said slowly:
"On the morning of the day that Mr. Morley was
shot, this girl Agnes happened to look over the
banisters from the top floor. She saw you on the
stairs--waiting and listening. Presently she saw you
go along to Mr. Morley's room. The time was then
twenty-six minutes or thereabouts past twelve."
Frank Carter trembled violently. Sweat came out
on his brow. His eyes, more furtive than ever, went
wildly from side to side. He shouted angrily:
"It's a lie! It's a damned lie! You've paid her--thc
police have paid her--to say she saw me."
"At that time," said Hercule Poirot, "by your
own account, you had left the house and were walking
in the Marylebone Road."
"So I was. That girl's lying. She couldn't have seen
me. It's a dirty plot. If it's true, why didn't she say so
before?"
Hercule Poirot said quietly:
"She did mention it at the time to her friend and
colleague the cook. They were worried and puzzled
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and didn't know what to do. When a verdict of
suicide was brought in they were much relieved and
decided that it wasn't necessary for them to say
anything."
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
195
"I don't believe a word of it! They're in it together,
that's all. A couple of'dirty, lying little..."
He tailed off into furious profanity.
Hercule Poirot waited.
When Carter's voice at last ceased, Poirot spoke
again, still in the same calm, measured voice.
"Anger and foolish abuse will not help you. These
girls are going to tell their story and it is going to be
believed. Because, you see, they are telling the truth.
The girl, Agnes Fl..etcher, did see you. You ,eere there
on the stairs at that time. You had not left the house.
And you did go into Mr. Morley's room."
He paused and then asked quietly: "What happened then'?."
"It's a lie, I tell you!"
Hercule Poirot felt very tired--very old. He did
not like Frank Carter. He disliked him very much.
In his opinion Frank Carter was a bully, a liar, a
swindler--altogether the type of young man the
world could well do without. He, Hercule Poirot,
had only to stand back and let this young man persist
in his lies and the world would be rid of one of its
more unpleasant inhabitants ....
Hercule Poirot said:
"I suggest that you tell me the truth..."
He realized the issue very clearly. Frank Carter was
stupid--but he wasn't so stupid as not to see that to
persist in his denial was his best and safest course.
Let him once admit that he had gone into that room
at twenty-six minutes past twelve and he was taking a
.step into grave danger. For after that, any story he
told would have a good chance of being considered a
lie.
Let him persist in his denial, then. If so, Hercule
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Poirot's duty would be over. Frank Carter would in
Agatha Christie
all probability be hanged for the murder of Henry Morley--and it might be, justly hanged.
Hercule Poirot had only to get up and go. Frank Carter said again:
"It's a lie!"
There was a pause. Hercule Poirot did not. get up and go. He would have liked to do so--very much.
Nevertheless, he remained..
He leaned forward. He said--and his voice held all the compelling force of his powerful personality--
"I am not lying to you. I ask you to believe me. If you did not kill Morley your only hope is to tell me
the exact truth of What hap?ned that morning."
The mean, treacherous face looking at him wavered, became uncertain. Frank Carter pulled at
his lip. His eyes went from side to side, terrified
frankly animal eyes.
It was touch and go now ....
Then suddenly, overborne by the strength of the personality confronting him, Frank Carter surrendered.
He said hoarsely:
"All right, then--I'll tell you. God curse you if you let me down now! I did go in .... I went up the
stairs and waited till I could be sure of getting him
alone. Waited there, up above Morley's landing.
Then a gent came out and went down--fat gent. I was just making up my mind to go--when another
gent came out of Morley's room and went down too.
I knew I'd got to be quick. I went along and nipped
into his room without knocking. I was all set to have
it out with him. Mucking about, putting my girl
against me--damn him--"
He stopped.
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE 19'
"Yes?" said Hereule Poirot, and his voice was stil urgent--compelling--
Carter's voice croaked uncertainly.
"And he was lying there--dead. It's Intel I sweal it's true! Lying lust as they said at the inquest..
couldn't believe it at first. I stooped over him. But h,
was dead all right. His hand was stone cold and I sa
the bullet hole in his head with a crust of blood roun¢
At the memory of it, sweat broke out on hi
forehead again.
"I saw then I was in a jam. They'd go and say 1'4
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done it. I hadn't touched anything except his hah,
and the door-handle. I wiped that with my handker
chief, both sides, as I went out, and I stole down
stairs as quickly as I could. There was nobody in th
hall and I let myself out and legged it away as fast as
could. No wonder I felt queer."
He paused. His scared eyes went to Poirot.
"That's the truth, l swear that's the truth H,
was dead already. You've got to believe me!"
Poirot
got up. He said--and his voice was tiro and
sad--"l believe you."
He
moved towards the door.
Frank
Carter cried out:
"They'll
hang me--they'll hang me for sure if the,,
know
that I was in there."
Poirot
said:
"By
telling the truth you have saved yourself fror, being
hanged."
"I
don't see it. They'll say--"
Poirot
interrupted him.
"Your
story has confirmed what I knew to be th truth.
You can leave it now to me."
198
Agatha Christie
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He went out.
He was not at all happy.
IV
He reached Mr. Barnes' house at Ealing at 6:45. He remembered that Mr. Barnes had called that a
good time of day.
Mr. Barnes was at work in his garden.
He said by way of greeting:
"We need rain, M. Poirot--need it badly."
He looked thoughtfully at his guest. He said:
"You don't look very well, M. Poirot?"
"Sometimes," said Hercule Poirot, "I do not like
the things I have to do."
Mr. Barnes nodded his head sympathetically.
He said:
"I know."
Hercule Poirot looked vaguely round at the neat
arrangement of the small beds. He murmured:
"It is well-planned, this garden. Everything is to
scale. It is small but exact."
Mr. Barnes said:
"When you have only a small place you've got to
make the most of it. You can't afford to make
mistakes in the planning."
Hercule Poirot nodded.
Barnes went on:
"I see you've got your man?"
"Frank Carter?"
"Yes. I'm rather surprised, really."
"You did not think that it was, so to speak, a
private murder?"
"No. Frankly I didn't. What with Amberiotis and
199
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
Alistair Biunt--I made sure that it was o0f
Espionage or Counter-Espionage mix-ups.' r first
That IS the view you expounded to me
meeting."
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"I know. I was quite sure of it at the tim',
Poirot said slowly:
"But you were wrong."
.foes by
"Yes. Don't rub it in. The trouble is, o gOT,'at sort
one's own experience, I've been mixed up ithar/ ge it
of thing so much I suppose I'm inclinto
everywhere."
Poirot said:
.ter
offer
"You have observed in your time a co!rrcig a
a card, have you not? What is called-f0rd
card?"
"Yes, of course." thtone
"That is what was done here. Every titlW th, ley,
thinks of a private reason for Morley's tl0 tis, Adipresto!--the
card is forced on one. Ambi0ti --of the
stair Blunt, the unsettled state of politi-(; foryou,
country--" He shrugged his shoulders. "4 fo1 aany-Mr.
Barnes, you did more to mislead mtha
body."
"Oh, I say, Poirot, I'm sorry. I supeO$ seat's
true."
S,e. 0yoar
"You were in a position to Icnow, you s.
words carried weight."
t¢ offlY
"We!l--I believed what I said. That'sth
apology I can make."
H,e paused and sighed.
n01i¢?''
And all the time, it was a purely privatrao0!: to the
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"Exactly. It has taken me a long timto :1 c,t ¢ery
reason for the murder--although I haor
definite piece of luck."
"What was that?"
200
Agatha Christie
"A fragment of a conversation. Really, a very illuminating fragment if only I had had,the sense to
realize its significance at the time."
Mr. Barnes scratched his nose thoughtfully with the trowl. A small piece of earth adhered to the side
of his nose.
"Being rather cryptic, aren't you?" he asked genially.
Hercule Poirot shrugged his shoulders. He said:
"I am, perhaps, aggrieved that you were not more
frank with me." "I?"
"Yes."
"My dear fellow--I never had the least idea of Carter's guilt. As far as I knew, he'd left the house
long before Morley was killed. I suppose now they've
found he didn't leave when he said he did?"
Poirot said:
"Carter was in the house at twenty-six minutes
past twelve. He actually saw the'murderer."
"Then Carter didn't--"
"Carter saw the murderer, I tell you!"
Mr. Barnes said:
"Did--did he recognize him?"
Slowly Hercule Poirot shook his head.
9
Seventeen, Eighteen, Maids in Waiting
On the following day Hercule Poirot spent some hours with a theatrical agent of his acquaintance. In
the afternoon he went to Oxford. On the day after
that he drove down to the country--it was late when
he returned.
He had telephoned before he left to make an appointment with Mr. Alistair Blunt for that same
evening.
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It was half past nine when he reached the Gothic House.
Alistair Blunt was alone in his library when Poirot was shown in.
He looked an eager question at his visitor as he
shook hands. He said: "Well?"
Slowly Hercule Poirot nodded his head.
202 Aatha Christie
Blunt looked at him in almost incredulous appreciation.
"Have you found her?"
"Yes. Yes, I have found her."
He sat down. And he sighed.
Alistair Blunt said: "You are tired?"
"Yes. I am tired. And it is not pretty--what I have
to tell you."
Blunt said:
"Is she dead?"
"That depends," said Hercule Poirot slowly, "on
how you like to look at it."
Blunt frowned.
He said:
"My dear man, a person must be dead or alive.
Miss Sainsbury Seale must be one or the other?"
"Ah, but who is Miss Sainsbury Seale?"
A!istair Blunt said:
"You don't mean that--that there isn't any such
person?"
"Oh, no, no. There was such a person. She lived in
Calcutta. She taught elocution. She busied herself
with good works. She came to England in the
ranah--the same boat in which Mr. Amberioti$
traveled. Although they were not in the same class,
he helped her over something--some fuss about her
luggage. He was, it would seem, a kindly man in little
ways. And sometimes, Mr. Blunt, kindness is repaid
in an unexpected fashion. It was so, you know, with
Mr. Amberiotis. He chanced to meet the lady again
in the streets of London. He was feeling expansive,
he goOd-naturedly invited her to lunch with him at
the Savoy. An unexpected treat for her. And an unexpected
windfall for Mr. Amberiotis! For his kind
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203
ness was not premeditated--he had no idea that this
faded, middle-aged lady was going to present him
with the equivalent, of a gold mine. But, nevertheless,
that is what she did, though she never suspected the
fact herself.
"She was never, you see, of the first order of intelligence.
A good, well-meaning soul, but the brain,
I should say, of a hen."
Blunt said:
"Then it wasn't she who killed the Chapman
woman?"
Poirot said slowly:
"It is difficult to know just how to present the
matter. I shall begin, I think, where the matter began
for me. With a shoe.t" Blunt said blankly:
"With a shoe?" Hercule Poirot nodded.
"Yes, a buckled shoe. I came out from my seance at the dentist's and as I stood on the steps of 58
Queen Charlotte Street, a taxi stopped outside, the
door opened and a woman's foot prepared to descend.
I am a man who notices a woman's foot and
ankle. It was a well-shaped foot, with a good ankle
and an expensive stocking, but I did not like the shoe.
It was a new, shining, patent leather shoe with a large
ornate buckle. Not chic--not at all chic!
"And whilst I was observing this, the rest of the
lady came into sight--and frankly it was a disappointment--a
middle-aged lady without charm and
badly dressed."
"Miss Sainsbury Seale?"
"Precisely. As she descended a contretemps occurred-she caught the buckle of her shoe in the door
and it was wrenched off. I picked it up and returned
202
Blunt ciation.
"Have'
"Yes.
He s
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?
Chrt
-ident was closed.
went with Chief In-dy.
(She had not as
Sainsbury Seale
That, we shall
,
l, Inspector Japp sum o
.d Mansions. There was a
.,e, and in that fur chest there
a body. I went into the room, I
me chest--and the first thing I saw was
ouckled shoe!''
ore!l?"
"You have not appreciated the point. It was a shabby shoe--a well-worn shoe. But you see, Miss
Sainsbury Seale had come to King Leopold Mansions
on the evening of that same day--the day of Mr.
Morley's murder. In the morning the shoes were new shoesmin the evening they were from shoes. One
does
not wear out a pair of shoes in a day, you comprehend.''
Alistair Blunt said without much interest:
"She could have two pairs of shoes, I suppose?"
"Ah, but that was notso. For Japp and I had gone
up to her room at the Glengowrie Court and had
looked at all her possessions--and there was no pair
of buckled shoes there. She might have had an old
pair of shoes, yes. She might have changed into them
after a tiring day to go out in the evening, yes? But if
so, the other pair would have been at the hotel. It was
curious, you will admit?"
Blunt smiled a little. He said:
"'I can't see that it is important."
"No, not important. Not at all important. But one
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205
does not like things that one cannot explain. I stood
by the fur chest and I looked at the shoe--the buckle
had recently been sewn on by hand. I will confess
that I then had a moment of doubt--of myself. Yes, I said to myself, Hercule Poirot, you were a little
lightheaded
perhaps this morning. You saw the world
through rosy spectacles. Even the old shoes looked
like new ones to you!"
"Perhaps that was the explanation?"
"But, no, it was not. My eyes do not deceive me!
To continue, I studied the dead body of this woman
and I did not like what I saw. Why had the face been
wantonly, deliberately smashed and rendered unrecognizable?''
Alistair Blunt moved restlessly. He said:
"Must we go over that again? We know--"
Hercule Poirot said firmly:
"It is necessary. I have to take you over the steps
that led me at last to the truth. I said to myself:
'Something is wrong here. Here is a dead woman in
the clothes of Miss Sainsbury Seale (except, perhaps,
the shoes?) and with the handbag of Miss Sainsbury
Seale--but why is her face unrecognizable? Is it,
Perhaps, because the face is not the face of Miss
$ainsbury Seale?' And immediately I begin to put
together what I have heard of the appearance of the other woman--the woman to whom the flat belongs,
and I ask myself--might it not, perhaps be this other
woman who lies dead here? I go then and look at the
other woman's bedroom. I try to picture to myself
what sort of woman she is. In superficial appearance,
very different to the other. Smart, showily dressed,
very much made up. But in essentials, not unlike. Hair, build, age... But there is one difference. Mrs.
Albert Chapman took a five in shoes. Miss Sainsbury
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Agatha Christie
Seale, I knew, took a size ten stocking--that is to say
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she would take at least a six in shoes. Mrs. Chapman,
then, had smaller feet than Miss Sainsbury Seale. I
went back'to the body. If my half-formed idea were
right, and the body was that of Mrs. Chapman wearing
Miss Sainsbury Se. ale's clothes, then the shoes should be too big. I took hold of one. But it was not
loose. It fitted tightly. That looked as though it were the body of Miss Sainsbury Seale after all! But in
that
case, why was the face disfigured? Her identity was
already proved by the handbag, which could easily
have been removed, but which had not been removed.
"It was a puzzlema tangle. In desperation I seized
on Mrs. Chapman's address book--a dentist was the
only person who could prove definitely who the dead
woman was--or was not. By a coincidence, Mrs.
Chapman's dentist was Mr. Morley. Morley was
dead, but identification was still possible. You know
the result. The body was identified in the coroner's
court by' Mr. Morley's successor as that of Mrs.
Albert Chapman."
Blunt was fidgeting with some impatience, but
Poirot took no notice. He went on:
"I was left now with a psychological problem.
What sort of a woman was Mabelle Sainsbury Seale?
There were two answers to that question. The first
was the obvious one borne out by her whole life in
India and by the testimony of her personal friends.
That depicted her as an earnest, conscientious,
slightly stupid woman. Was there another Miss
Sainsbury Seale? Apparently there was. There was a
woman who had lunched with a well-known foreign
agent, who had accosted you in the street and
claimed to be a close friend of your wife's (a state
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
207
ment that was almost certainly untrue), a woman
who had left a man's house very shortly before a
murder had been committed, a woman who had
visited another woman on the evening when in all
probability that other woman had been murdered,
and who had since disappeared, although she must be
aware that the police force of England was looking
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for her. Were all these actions compatible with the
character which her friends gave her? It would seem
that they were not. Therefore, if Miss Sainsbury
Seale were not the good, amiable creature she
seemed, then it would appear that she was quite
possibly a cold-blooded murderess, or almost certainly
an accomplice after the fact.
"I had one more criterionBmy own personal impression.
I had talked to Mabelle Sainsbury Seale
myself. How had she struck me? And that, Mr.
Blunt, was the most difficult question to answer of
all. Everything that she said, her way of talking, her
manner, her gestures, all were perfectly in accord
with her given character. But they were equally in accord
with a clever actress playing a part. And, after
all, Mabelle Sainsbury Seale had started life as an
actress.
"I had been much impressed by a conversation I
had had with Mr. Barnes of Ealing who had also
been a patient at 58 Queen 'Charlotte Street on that
particular day. His theory, expressed very forcibly,
was that the deaths of Morley and of Amberiotis
were only incidental, so to speakBthat the intended
victim was you."
Alistair Blunt said:
"Oh, come now--that's a bit farfetched."
"Is it, Mr. Blunt? Is it not true that at this moment
there are various groups of people to whom it is vital
208
Agatha Christie
that you should be--removed, shall we say? Shall be
no longer capable of exerting your influence?" Blunt said:
"Oh, yes, that's true enough. But why mix up this
business of Morley's death with that?"
Poirot said:
"Because there is a certain--how shall I put it?-lavishness about the case--expense is no object--human
life is no object. Yes, there is a recklessness, a
lavishness--that points to a big crime!"
"You don't think Morley shot himself because of a mistake?"
"I never thought so--not for a minute. No, Morley was murdered, Amberiotis was murdered, an
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unrecognizable woman was murdered-- Why? For
some big stake. Barnes' theory was that somebody
had tried to bribe Morley or his partner to put you
out of the way."
Alistair Blunt said sharply:
"Nonsense!"
"Ah, but is it nonsense? Say one wishes to put someone out of the way. Yes, but that someone is
forewarned, forearmed, difficult of access. To kill
that person it is necessary to be able to approach him
without awakening his suspicions--and where would
a man be less suspicious than in a dentist's chair?"
"Well, that's true, I suppose. I never thought of it like that."
"It is true. And once I realized it I had my first vague glimmering of the truth."
"So you accepted Barnes' theory? Who is Barnes, by the way?"
"Barnes was Reilly's twelve o'clock patient. He is retired from the Home Office and lives at Ealing. An
insignificant little man. But you are wrong when you
ONE. TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
209
say I accepted his theory. I did not. I only accepted the principle of it."
"What do you mean?"
Hercule Poirot said:
"All along, all the way through, I have been led astray--sometimes unwittingly, sometimes deliberately
and for a purpose. All along it was presented to
me, forced upon me, that this was what you might
call a public crime. That is to say, that you, Mr.
Blunt, were the focus of it all, in your public character. You, the banker, you, the controller of
finance, you, the upholder of conservative tradition!
"But every public character has a private life also.
That was my mistake, I forgot the private life. There
existed private reasons for killing Morley--Frank
Carter's, for instance.
"There could also exist private reasons for killing you... You had relations who would inherit money
when you died. You had people who loved and hated
youmas a man--not as a public figure.
"And so I came to the supreme instance of what I
call 'the forced card.' The purported attack upon you
by Frank Carter. If that attack was genuine--then it was a political crime. But was there any other
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explanation? There could be. There was a second man
in the shrubbery. The man who rushed up and seized
Carter. A man who could easily have fired that shot
and then tossed the pistol to Carter's feet so that the
latter would almost inevitably pick it up and be
found with it in his hand ....
"I considered the problem of Howard Raikes.
Raikes had been at Queen Charlotte Street that
morning of Morley's death. Raikes was a bitter
enemy of all that you stood for and were. Yes, but
Raikes was something more. Raikes was the man
210
Agatha Christie
who might marry your niece, and with you dead, your niece would inherit a very handsome income,
even though you had prudently arranged that she
could not touch the principal.
"Was the whole thing, after all, a private crime--a crime for private gain, for private satisfaction? Why
had I thought it a public crime? Because, not once,
but many times, that idea-had been suggested to me,
had been.forced upon me like a forced card...
"It was then, when that idea occurred to me, that 1 had my first glimmering of the truth. I was in church
at the time and singing a verse of a psalm. It spoke of
a snare laid with cords ....
"A snare? Laid for me? Yes, it could be... But in that case who had laid it? There was only one person
who could have laid it .... And that did not make
sense--or did it? Had I been looking at the case upside down? Money no object? Exactly! Reckless
disregard of human life? Yes, again. For the stakes
for which the guilty person was playing were enormous ....
"But if this new, strange idea of mine were right, it must explain everything. It must explain, for instance,
the mystery of the dual nature of Miss Sains-bury
Sea!e. It must solve the riddle of the buckled
shoe. And it must answer the question: Where is Miss
Sainsbury $eale now?
"Eh bien--it did all that and more. It showed me that Miss Sainsbury Scale was the beginning and
middle and end of the case. No wonder it had seemed
to me that there were two Mabelle Sainsbury Scales.
There were two Mabelle Sainsbury Scales. There was
the good, stupid, amiable woman who was vouched
for so confidently by her friends. And there was the
,her--the woman who was mixed up with 'two mur-
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211
ders and who told lies and who vanished mysteriously.
"Remember, the porter atKing Leopold Mansions said that Miss Sainsbury Scale had been there once
before ....
"In my reconstruction of the case, that first time
was the only time. She never left King Leopold Mansions. The other Miss Sainsbury Seale took her
place. That other Mabe!le Sainsbury Scale, dressed in
clothes of the same type and wearing a new pair of
shoes with buckles because the others were too large
for her, went to the Russell Square Hotel at a busy
time of day, packed up the dead' woman's clothes,
paid the bill and left. She went to the Glengowrie
Court Hotel. None of the real Miss Sainsbury Scale's
friends saw her after that time, remember. She
played the part of Mabe!le Sainsbury Scale there for
over a week. She wore Mabe!le Sainsbury Seaie's
clothes, she talked in Mabelle Sainsbury Seale's
voice, but she had to buy a smaller pair of evening
shoes, too. And then--she vanished, her last appearance
being when she was seen reentering King
Leopold Mansions on the evening of the day Morley
was killed."
"Are you trying to say," demanded Alistair Blunt,
"that it was Mabelle Sanisbury Scale's dead body in
that flat, after all?"
"Of course it was! It was a very clever double
bluff--the smashed face was meant to raise a question
of the woman's identity!"
"But the dental evidence?"
"Ah! Now we come to it. It was not the dentist
himself who gave evidence. Morley was dead. He
couldn't give evidence as to his own work. He would
have known who the dead woman was. It was the
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Agatha Christie
charts that were put in as evidence--and the charts
were faked. Both women were his patients, remember.
All that had to be done was to relabel the charts,
exchanging the names."
Hercule Poirot added:
"And now you see what I meant when you asked
me if the woman was dead and I replied, 'That depends.'
For when you say, 'Miss Sainsbury Scale'-- which woman do you mean? The woman who disappeared
from the Glengowrie Court Hotel or the real
Mabelle Sainsbury Seale?"
Alistair Blunt said:
"I know, M. Poirot, that you have a great reputation.
Therefore, I accept that you must have some
grounds for this extraordinary assumption--for it is
an assumption, nothing more. But all I can see is the
fantastic improbability of the whole thing. You are
saying, are you not, that Mabelle Sainsbury Seale
was deliberately murdered and that Morley was also
murdered to prevent his identifying her dead body.
But why? That's what I want to know. Here's this
woman--a perfectly harmless, middle-aged woman
--with plenty of friends and apparently no enemies.
Why on earth all this elaborate plot to get rid of
her?"
"Why? Yes, that is the question. Why? As you
say. Mabelle Sainsbury Seale was a perfectly harm!ess
creature who wouldn't hurt a fly! Why, then,
was she deliberately and brutally murdered? Well, I
will tell you what I think."
"Yes?"
·'
de Poirot leaned forward. He said:
my belief that Mabe!!e Sainsbury Seale was
:l because she happened to have too good a
for faces."
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213
"What do you mean?"
Hercule Poirot said:
"We have separated the dual personality. There is
the harmless lady from India, and there is the clever
actress playing the part of the harmless lady from India.
But there is one incident that falls between the
two roles. Which Miss Sainsbury Seale was it who
spoke to you on the doorstep of Mr. Morley's house?
She claimed, you will remember, to be 'a great friend
of your wife's.' Now that claim was adjudged by her
friends and by the light of ordinary probability to be
untrue. So we can say: 'That was a lie. The real Miss
Sainsbury Scale does not tell lies.' So it was a lie uttered
by the impostor for a purpose of her own."
Alistair Blunt nodded.
"Yes, that reasoning is quite clear. Though I still
don't know what the purpose was."
Poirot said:
"Ah, pardon--but let us first look at it the other
way round. It was the real Miss Sainsbury Seale. She
does not tell lies. So the story must be true."
"I suppose you can look at it that way--but it
seems very unlikely--"
"Of course it is unlikely! But taking that second
hypothesis as factmthe story is true. Therefore Miss
Sainsbury Seale did know your wife. She knew her well. Therefore--your wife must have been the type
of person Miss $ainsbury Scale would have known
well. Someone in her own station of life. An AngloIndian--a
missionary--or, to go back farther still--an
actress-- Therefore--not Rebecca Arnholt!
"Now, Mr. Blunt, do you see what I meant when I
talked of a private and a public life? You are the
great banker. But you are also a man who married a
rich wife. And before you married her you were only
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a junior partner in the firm--not very long dow,
from Oxford.
"You comprehend--I began to look at the case the right way up. Expense no object? Naturally not--to
you. Reckless of human life--that, too, since for a
long time you have been virtually a dictator and to a
dictator his own life becomes unduly important and
those of others unimportant."
Alistair Blunt said:
"What are you suggesting M. Poirot?"
Poirot said quietly:
"I am suggesting, Mr. Blunt, that when you married
Rebecca Arnholt, you were married already That, dazzled by the vista, not so much of wealth, as
of power, you suppressed that fact and deliberately
committed bigamy. That your real wife acquiesced ir
the situation."
"And who was this real wife?"
"Mrs. Albert Chapman was the name she wew
under at King Leopold Mansions--a handy spot, no
five minutes' walk from your house on the Chelse
Embankment. You borrowed the name of a rea
secret agent, realizing that it would give support tv
her hints of a husband engaged in intelligence work
Your scheme succeeded perfectly. No suspicion was
ever aroused. Nevertheless, the fact remained, you
had never been legally married to Rebecca Arnholl and you were guilty of bigamy. You never dreame
of danger after so many years. It came out, of the
blue--in the form of a tiresome woman who remem
bered you after nearly twenty years, as her friend's
husband. Chance brought her back to this country,
chance let her meet you in Queen Charlotte Street--it
was chance that your niece was with you and heard
what she said to you. Otherwise I might never have
guessed."
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
215
"I told you about that myself, my dear Poirot."
"No, it was your niece who insisted on telling me
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and you could not very well protest too violently in
case it might arouse suspicions. And after that meeting,
one more evil chance (from your point of view)
occurred. Mabelle Sainsbury Seale met Amberiotis,
went to lunch with him and babbled to him of this
meeting with a friend's husband--'after all these
years! Looked o!<!er, of course, but had hardly
changed!' That, I admit, is pure guesswork on my
part but I believe it is what happened. I do not think
that Mabe!!e Sainabury Seale realized for a moment
that the Mr. Blunt her friend had married was the
shadowy figure behind the finance of the world. The
name, after all, is not an uncommon one. But Am-beriotis,
remember, in addition to his espionage activities,
was a blackmailer. Blackmailers have an uncanny
nose for a secret. Amberiotis wondered. Easy
to find out just who the Mr. Blunt Was. And then, I
have no doubt, he wrote to you.., or telephoned.
Oh! yes-a gold mine for Amberiotis."
Poirot paused, then went on:
"There is only one effectual method of dealing
with a really efficient and experienced blackmailer.
Silence him.
"It was not a case, as I had had erroneously suggested
to me, of 'Blunt must go.' It was, on the contrary,
'Amberiotis must go.' But the answer was the
same! The easiest way to get at a man is when he is
off his guard, and when is a man more off his guard
then in the dentist's chair?"
Poirot paused again. A faint smile came to his lips,
He said:
"The truth about the case was mentioned very
early. The page boy, Alfred, was reading a crime
story called Death at 11:43. We should have taken
216
Agatha Christie
that as an omen. For, of course, that is just about the time when Morley was killed. You shot him just as
you were leaving. Then you pressed his buzzer,
turned on the taps of the wash basin and left the
room. You timed it so that you came down the stairs
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just as Alfred was taking the false Mabelle Sainsbury
Seale to the elevator. You actually opened the front
door, perhaps you passed out, but as the elevator
doors shut and the elevator went up you slipped inside
again and went up the stairs.
"I know, from my own visits, just what Alfred did when he took up a patient. He knocked on' the door,
opened it, and stood back to let the patient pass in.
Inside the water was running--inference, Morley was
washing his hands as usual. But Alfred couldn't actually see him.
"As soon as Alfred had gone down again in the elevator, you slipped along into the surgery. Together
you and your accomplice lifted the body and
carried it into the adjoining office. Then a quick hunt
through the files and the charts of Mrs. Chapman
and Miss Sainsbury Seale were cleverly falsified. You
put on a white linen coat, perhaps your wife applied a
trace of make-up. But nothing much was needed. It
was Amberiotis' first visit to Morley. He had never
met you. And your photograph seldom appears in
the papers. Besides, why should he have suspicions?
A blackmailer does not fear his dentist. Miss Sains-bury
Scale goes down and Alfred shows her out. The
buzzer goes and Amberiotis is taken up. He finds the
dentist washing his hands behind the door in approved
fashion. He is conducted to the chair. He indicates
the painfu, l tooth. You talk the accustomed
patter. You explain it will be best to freeze the gum.
The procaine and adrenaline are there. You inject a
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
217
big enough dose to kill. And incidentally he will not feel any lack of skill in your dentistry!
"Completely unsuspicious, Amberiotis leaves. You
bring out Morley's body and arrange it on the floor,
dragging it slightly on the carpet now that you have
to manage it single-handed. You wipe the pistol and
put it in his hand--wipe the door handle so that your
prints shall not be the last. The instruments you used
have all been passed into the sterilizer. You leave the
room, go down the stairs and slip out of the front
door at a suitable moment. That is your only moment
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of danger.
"It should all have passed off so well! Two people
who threatened your safety--both dead. A third person
also dead--but that, from your point of view,
was unavoidable. And all so easily explained. Morley's
suicide explained by the mistake he had made
over Amberiotis. The two deaths cancel out. One of
these regrettable accidents.
"But alas for you, I am On the scene. I have
doubts. I make objections. All is not going as easily
as you hoped. So there must be a second line of defenses.
There must be, if necessary, a scapegoat. You
have already informed yourself minutely of Morley's
household. There is this mar, Frank Carter, he will
do. So your accomplice arranges that he shall be
engaged in a mysterious fashion as gardener. If,
later, he tells such a ridiculous sto/'Y no one will
believe it. In due course, the body in the fur chest will
come to light. At first it will be thought to be that of
Miss Sainsbury Seale, then the dental evidence will be
taken. Big sensation! It may seem a needless complication,
but it was necessary. You do not want the
police force of England to be looking for a missing
Mrs. Albert Chapman. No, let Mrs. Chapman be
218
Agatha Christie
dead--and let it be Mabe!le Sainsbur. y Seale for
whom the police look--since they can never find her.
Besides, through your influence, you can arrange to
have the case dropped.
"You did do that, but since it was necessary that
you should know just what I was doing, you sent for
me and urged me to find the missing woman for you.
And you continued, steadily, to 'force a card' upon
me. Your accomplice rang me up with a melodramatic
warning--the same idea--espionage--the pub. lie aspect. She is a clever actress, this wife of yours,
but to disguise one's voice the natural tendency is to
imitate another voice. Your wife imitated the intonation
of Mrs. Olivera. That puzzled me, I may say, a
good deal.
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"Then I was taken down to Exsham--the final
performance was staged. How easy to arrange a
loaded pistol amongst laurels so that a man, clipping
them, shall unwittingly cause it to go off. The pistol
falls at his feet. Startled, he picks it up. What more
do you want? He is caught red-handed--with a ridiculous
story and with a pistol which is a twin to the
one with which Morley was shot.
"And all a snare for the feet of Hercule Poirot."
Alistair Blunt stirred a little in his chair. His face
was grave and a little sad. He said:
"Don't misunderstand me, M. Poirot. How much
do you guess? And how much do you actually know?"
Poirot said:
"I have a certificate of the marriage--at a registry
office near Oxford--of Martin Alistair Blunt and
Gerda Grant. Frank Carter saw two men leave
Morley's surgery just after twenty-five past twelve.
The first was a fat man--Amberiotis. The second
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
219
was, of course, you. Frank Carter did not recognize you. He only saw you from above."
"How fair of you to mention that!"
"He went into the surgery and found Morley's body. The hands were cold and there was dried blood
round the wound. That meant that Morley had been
dead some time. Therefore the dentist who attended
to Amberiotis could not have been Morley and must
have been Morley' s murderer."
"Anything else°.''
"Yes. Helen Montressor was arrested this after- nooll ."
Alistair Blunt gave one sharp movement. Then he sat very still. He said:
"That--rather tears it."
Hercule Poirot said:
"Yes. The real Helen Montressor, your distant cousin, died in Canada seven years ago. You suppressed
that fact, and took advantage of it."
A smile came to Alistair Blunt's lips. He spoke naturally and with a kind of boyish enjoyment.
"Gerda got a kick out of it all, you know. I'd like to make you understand. You're such a clever fellow.
I married her without letting my people know. She
was acting in repertory at the time. My people were
the strait-laced kind, and I was going into the firm.
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We agreed to keep it dark. She went on acting.
Mabelle Sainsbury Scale was in the company, too.
She knew about us. Then she went abroad with a
touring company. Gerda heard of her once or twice
from India. Then she stopped writing. Mabelle got
mixed up with some Hindu. She was always a stupid,
credulous girl.
"I wish I could make you understand about my meeting with Rebecca and my marriage. Gerda
220 Agatha Christie
understood. The only way I can put it is that it was
like Royalty. I had the chance of marrying a Queen
and playing the part of Prince Consort or even King.
I looked on my marriage to Gerda as morganatic. I
loved her. I didn't want to get rid of her. And the
whole thing worked splendidly. I liked Rebecca ira-mensely.
She was a women with a first-class financial
brain and mine was just as good. We were good at
teamwork. It was supremely e::ci/ting. She was an ex-cellcnt
companion and I think I made her happy. I
was genuinely sorry when she died. The queer thing
was that Gerda and I grew tO enjoy the secret thrill of
our meetings. We had all sorts of ingenious devices.
She was an actress by nature. She had a repertoire of
seven or eight characters--Mrs. Albert Chapman was
only one of them. She was an American widow in
Paris. I met her there when I went over on business.
And she used to go to Norway with painting things as
an artist. I went there for the fishing. And then, later,
I passed her off as my cousin, Helen Montressor. It
was great fun for us both, and it kept romance alive,
I suppose. We could have married officially after
Rebecca died--but we didn't want to. Gerda would
have found it hard to live my official life and, of
course, something from the past might have been
raked up,but I think the real reason we went on more
or less the same was that we enjoyed the secrecy of it.
We should have found open domesticity dull."
Blunt paused. He said, and his voice changed and
hardened:
"And then that damned fool of a woman messed
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up everything. Recognizing me--after all those years!
And she told Amberiotis. You see--you must sec
--that something had to be done! It wasn't only
myself--not only the selfish point of view. If I was
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
221
ruined and disgraced--the country, my country was
hit as well. For I've done something for England, M.
Poirot. I've held it firm and kept it solvent. It's free
from Dictators--from Fascism and from Communism.
I don't really care for money as money. I
do like power--I like to rule--but I don't want to
tyrannize. We are democratic in England--truly
democratic. We can grumble and say what we think
and laugh at our politicians. We're free. I care for all
that--it's been my life work. But if I went--well, you
know what would probably happen, I'm needed, M. Poirot. And a damned, double-crossing, blackmailing
rogue of a Greek was going to destroy my life
work. Something had to be done. Gerda saw it, too.
We were sorry about the Sainsbury Seale woman--but
it was no good. We'd got to silence her. She
couldn't be trusted to hold her tongue. Gerda went to
see her, asked her to tea, told her to ask for Mrs.
Chapman, said she was staying in Mrs. Chapman's
flat. Mabelle Sainsbury Seale came, quite unsuspecting.
She never knew anything--the medinai was in
the tea--it's quite painless. You just sleep and don't
wake up. The face business was done afterwards--rather
sickening, but we felt it was necessary. Mrs.
Chapman was to exit for good. I had given my
'cousin' Helen a cottage to live in. We decided that
after a while we would get married. But first we had
to get Amberiotis out of the way. It worked beautifully.
He hadn't a suspicion that I wasn't a real dentist.
I did my stuff with the hand-picks rather well. I
didn't risk the drill. Of course, after the injection he
couldn't feel what I was doing. Probably just as
well!"
Poirot asked:
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"The pistols?"
atha Crixte
"Actually they belonged to a secretary I once had
in America. He bought them abroad somewhere.
When he left he forgot to take them."
There was a pause. Then Alistair Blunt asked:
"Is there anything else you want to know?"
Hercule Poirot said:
"What about Morley?"
Alistair Blunt said simply:
"I was sorry about Morley."
Hercule Poirot said:
"Yes, I see .... "
There was a long pause, then Blunt said:
"Well, M. Poirot, what about it?"
Poirot said:
"Helen M ontressor is arrested already."
"And now it's my turn?"
"That was my meaning, yes."
Blunt said gently:
"But you are not happy about it, eh?"
"No, I am not at all happy."
Alistair Blunt said:
"I've killed three people. So presumably I ought to
be hanged. But you've heard my defense."
"Which is--exactly?"
"That I believe, with all my heart and soul, that I
am necessary to the continued peace and well-being
of this country."
Hercule Poirot allowed:
"That may bemyes.''
"You agree, don't you?"
"I agree, yes. You stand for all the things that to
my mind are important. For sanity and balance and
stability and honest dealing."
./ Alistair Blunt said quietly:
'Thanks."
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223
He added:
"Well, what about it?"
"You suggest that I--retire from the case?"
"Yes."
"And your wife?"
"I've got a good deal of pull. Mistaken identity,
that's the line to take."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then," said Aiistair Blunt simply, "I'm for it.-"
He went on:
"It's in your hands, Poirot. It's up to you. But I
tell you this--and it's not just self-preservation--I'm
needed in the world. And do you know why? Because I'm an honest man. And because I've got common
sensemand no particular axe of my own to grind."
Poirot nodded. Strangely enough, he believed all
that.
He said:
"Yes, that is one side. You are the right man in the
right place. You have sanity, judgment, balance. But
there is the other side. Three human beings who are
dead."
"Yes, but think of them! Mabe!le Sainsbury
Seale--You said yourself--a woman with the brains
of a hen! Amberiotis--a crook and a blackmailer!"
"And Morley?"
"I've told you before. I'm sorry about Morley.
But after all--he was a decent fellow and a good den-tist-but
there are other dentists."
"Yes," said Poirot, "there are other dentists. And
Frank Carter? You would have let him die, too,
without regret?"
Blunt said:
"I don't waste any pity on him. He's no good. An
utter rotter."
224
Agatha Christie
Poirot said:
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"But a human being "
"Oh,
well, we're all human beings .... "
"Yes, we are all human beings. That is what you
have not remembered. You have said that Mabelle
Sainsbury Scale was a foolish human being and
Amberiotis an evil one, and Frank Carter a wastrelt
and Morley--Morley was only a dentist and there are
other dentists. That is where you and I, Mr. Blunt,
do not see alike. For to me the lives of those four
people were just as important as your life."
"You're wrong."
"No, I am not wrong. You are a man of great
natural honesty and rectitude. You took one step
aside--and outwardly it has not affected you. Publicly
you have continued the same--upright, trustworthy,
honest. But within you the love of power
grew to overwhelming heights. So you sacrificed four
human lives and thought them of no account."
"Don't you realize, Poirot, that the safety and
happiness of the whole nation depends on me?"
"I am not concerned with nations, Monsieur. I am
concerned with the lives of private individuals who
have the right not to have their lives taken from
them."
He got up.
"So that's your answer," said Alistair Blunt.
Hercule Poirot said in a tired voice:
"Yes--that is my answer .... "
He went to the door and opened it. Two men came
in.
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE
225
II
Hercule Poirot went down to where a girl was waiting.
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Jane Olivera, her face white and strained, stood against the mantelpiece. Beside her was Howard
Raikes.
She said:
"Well?"
Poirot said gently:
"It is all over."
Raikes said harshly:
"What do you mean?"
Poirot said:
"Mr. Alistair Blunt has been arrested for murder."
Raikes said:
"I thought he'd buy you off "
Jane said:
"No.
I never thought that."
Poirot
sighed. He said:
"The
world is yours. The new heaven and the new earth.
In your new world, my children, let there be freedom
and let there be pity .... That is all I ask."
IO
Nineteen, Twenty,
My Plate's Empty
Hercule Poirot walked home along the deserted
streets.
An unobtrusive figure joined him.
"Well?" said Mr. Barnes.
Hercule Poirot shrugged his shoulders and spread
out his hands.
Barnes said:
"What line did he take?"
"He admitted everything and pleaded justification.
He said that this country needs him."
"So it does," said Mr. Barnes.
He added after a minute or two, "Don't you think
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so?"
"Yes, I do."
"Well, then--"
"We may be wrong," said Hercule Poirot.
"I never thought of that," said Mr. Barnes. "So
we may."
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Agatha Christie
They walked on for a little way, then Barnes asked
curiously:
"What are you thinking about?"
Hercule Poirot quoted:
"Because thou hast rejected the word of the Lord,
he hath also rejected thee from being King."
"Hm--I see--" said Mr. Barnes. "Saul--after the
Amalekites. Yes, you could think of it that way."
They walked on a little further, then Barnes said:
"I take the tube here. Good-night, Poirot." He
paused, then said awkwardly: "You know--there's
something I'd like to tell you."
"Yes, man ami?"
"Feel I owe it to you. Led you astray unintentionally.
Fact of the matter is, Albert Chapman,
Q.X.912."
"Yes?"
"I'm Albert Chapman. That's partly why I was so
interested. I knew, you see, that I'd never had a
wife."
He hurried away, chuckling.
Poirot stood stock still. Then his eye opened, his
eyebrows rose.
He said to himself:
"Nineteen, twenty, my plate's empty--"
And went home.
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